


Holding On To You

by Throneofbooksandpages (orphan_account)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Childhood Memories, F/M, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23563003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Throneofbooksandpages
Summary: Aziraphale and Anthony grew up together. They were inseparable. Until the summer before they turned sixteen.Almost five years later they meet again, unexpectedly, at University. Now at twenty, they try to deal with memories of the past, and feelings that never went away.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	1. The Night We Met

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how long this is going to turn out but I'd say it'll be something around 15 - 20 chapters.  
> This is my first fanfiction that's longer than a 1000 words one shot, and the first writing piece longer than more than a few pages.  
> Lemme know what you think, find me on tumblr, or whatever.  
> I'll try to update once a week.  
> Hope you'll enjoy it.  
> :)

The music was loud, the room crowded, and the air had long since ceased to be breathable. In short, Aziraphale found that there were about a million places he'd rather be, right now. In his room, for example, reading a nice book, and drinking some lovely cocoa. Or in the library, working on one of his essays that were due next week. And yet, here he was, attending his first (and hopefully last) party at University.  
He wasn't even here because he wanted to be, not really, anyways. Somehow he had let Anathema talk him into joining her. A decision he now regretted deeply. As the people around him danced, shouted at each other over the loud music, or played drinking games with their friends, Aziraphale was standing awkwardly in one corner, clutching a plastic cup of beer, of which he took tentiv sips from time to time. That stuff tasted truly awful. No, this kind of activity really wasn’t his scene.  
About half an hour ago, Anathema had slurred something about going to the toilet, and had yet to return. It wasn't like her to just leave him alone when she knew very well, how uncomfortable he must feel. Aziraphale sight, perhaps he should go looking for her. Maybe he could convince her that he had been at this annoying party long enough, to be socially acceptable. And then he could go home, where it would be quiet, and he had room to move, without bumping into at least three people at once.  
Fidgeting with his plastic cup, he eyed the crowd, looking for familiar long dark hair. Damn Anathema, where was she? The music drummed through his body, and the heat was unbearable. He wanted to go home. Yes, there was no use waiting for her to come back, who knew how long that was going to take, he was better off trying to find her.  
Aziraphale tried to make his way through the crowd, heading in the general direction he believed the bathroom to be. Squeezing through the thicked, he mumbled apologies, no one was going to hear over the noise. Someone elbowed him in the back, and he bumped into a thin chest, sending a bit of his beer onto the coat and scarf he was carrying. Most of the drink, however, went down a black Queen shirt. Oh, bugger!  
"Oi, watch where you're going!" a sharp voice snapped.  
He started to apologize but as be looked up all words died on his tongue, and he stopped dead, when he saw who was standing in front of him. The boy was tall, dressed completely in black, and he was wearing sunglasses, even though, they were inside. His fine red hair reached his shoulders and the top part was pulled into a bun. Aziraphale had never seen him on campus before, yet he was everything but a stranger to him.  
Numbness flowed through him, it was as if everything around them slowed down, and then stopped existing altogether. He forgot how to move, forgot how to breath forgot all but the boy in front of him. Anthony. It could not be. How was this possible?  
There was no mistaking him. He would recognize him everywhere, always, even after all this year.Bum bum bum, went his heart in his chest, loud enough to drown out the music and chatter of the other students.  
Reality sped up again, when someone pushed against Aziraphale again, and he saw Anthony being pulled outside, getting lost in the sea of faces. Like the tide was dragging him away, towards the unreachable horizon. His mind buzzed in confusion, and he let the crowd push him around, unable to grasp one clear thought, as his brain went a million miles per minute. Anthony, his Anthony. How could be possibly be here?  
Somehow, he found himself in the kitchen, not knowing how he'd gotten there.  
"You alright? You look like you've seen a ghost." Anathema's voice close to his ear startled him and he flinched.  
"Wow, what's got you all jumpy?" she asked, eyebrows drawn together over her round glasses. The skirts of her purple dress rustled, as she stepped closer to examine him.  
"Nothing," he mumble, "Just the crowd and all. I think, I'd very much like to go home now, dear."  
Anathema eyed him a second longer, and then nodded. "Yeah, let's get out of here."  
Aziraphale threw him empty plastic cup into a bin.  
Even though, it was already nearing midnight, and tomorrow was a regular Thursday, which meant lectures and seminars for them all, the crowd only seemed to grow. Together they made their way towards the door, painfully slow, as the had to literally fight their way through a thick mass of mostly drunk university students.  
Aziraphale hardly noticed it, though. His thoughts were still racing, trying to deal with suddenly, unexpectedly coming face to face with Anthony J. Crowley.  
They were outside now, the cool winter air quickly chasing off the heat that came with being in one room with what was likely to be more than 40 people. Aziraphale shivered, started putting on the coat and scarf he had held in front of him like a shield the whole evening.  
Vaguely he registered that Anathema was talking to him, telling him something about someone she had seen at the party. But none of the words seemed to reach Aziraphale.The two of them walked across street in front of the house, in which the party had taken place (some rich kid’s parent’s home, who were out of town more often than not), and they started to walk towards Alton Hall, where their dorms were. In the park opposite the street, several semi drunk students were messing around, and as Aziraphale's eyes darted towards them, he notice one of them sitting on the backrest of a bench. Red hair, dark clothes and sunglasses. Anthony. That was where he'd disappeared to. The other boy was staring right at Aziraphale, and he knew that Anthony had recognized him, just as Aziraphale had recognized Anthony. He didn't know why he was so sure, yet the thought made his head spin some more. His heart pounded loud in his ears. How? How could it be that they met again right now at this stupid party? After all this years.  
Memories tried to force their way into Aziraphale's head. Memories he had tried so very hard to forget. Memories that had always lingered in the back of his mind.  
"Zira? What is wrong with you?" Anathema put a hand on his arm, and thus, dragged him back into the here and now. She had stopped underneath a street post, blinking at him in the soft light.  
"Nothing, nothing, dear. Everything is tickety-boo,” he hurried to say, twitching his hands.  
"Bullshit. I might be a little - a little drunk, but you look like your going to throw up, and I know you hadn't that much of a drink," she insisted.  
Aziraphale tried to look everywhere but her eyes. "It's just - no, never mind, I just want to go home, please?" His voice sounded hopeful even though he knew Anathema wouldn't let go easily. Still, Aziraphale removed her hand, and started to walk again.  
After a beat, Anathema hurried to keep up, and said: "Wow, wait. Something is so totally wrong right now, and you're telling me. Something happened to you while I was gone... Wait did somebody do something to you?"  
"What? No! I told you, I'm fine."  
Her hand grabbed his arm again."Talk to me, Zira. I'm your friend, and you are clearly upset. Let me help you."  
Aziraphale stopped, and turned to face her. "Look, I do not think that I can talk about this right now, but I appreciate you trying to help, my dear."  
"Okay, how about get back to yours, and get you some tea, maybe then you can tell me what's going on?"  
He blinked, stared at her for a moment, and then said: "Alright, let's get out of this cold."  
The rest of the walk back was spent in silence. Aziraphale was lost in thought, and Anathema thought it best to shut up for the time being. She kept a careful eye on him, though, because he was so distracted that he twice tried to take a wrong turn, and almost passed the entrance to Alton Hall without noticing.  
Once inside the dorm he shared with two other boy, he found his way back to reality.  
"Let's go to my room. I am not sure if Gabriel and Michael are here but I'd rather not have them interrupt us," Aziraphale said, as he made them both a cup of tea. When all was ready, he lead them down the short narrow hall into his bedroom.  
The room was small. One side was occupied by a shelf and a desk, the other held his bed and closet. There were barely more than four feet between the chair at his desk and the tiny nightstand. Still, Aziraphale had managed to make the space somewhat comfortable. The shelf was already filled with books, even though Aziraphale had moved in only six month ago. His bed was covered with way too many pillows and blankets in various cream or beige shades, and tartan patterns.  
On the wall above his bed was a cork board, on which he had pinned his time table, two theater tickets he had kept from the plays he had visited with Anathema, and pictures. Pictures of him with his parents from when he was younger, pictures from his time in America, and one picture of him and Anathema.  
Aziraphale placed his cup on his desk, and sat down on the chair, folding his hands in his lap. Anathema closed the door behind her, then made herself comfortable on Aziraphale’s bed. She took a sip of her tea, waiting for Aziraphale to start talking.  
"Right, so…" he began without really knowing what to say. To buy some time he rearrange the papers on his desk. Aziraphale didn’t really know where to start, how to explain the mess inside his head.  
"The thing is… you know that I used to near Oxford before my Mum and I went to American for a bit, right?"  
Anathema nodded, cradling the cup close to her chest, soaking in the warmth.  
"Before we left, I had this… er… Friend. See, we basically grew up together. And then we left, and back than we did not have mobile phones, or anything similar, so we had no contact for five years. When I got back to England, I went back to our hometown, looking for him, but they told me he had moved away and nobody knew where to find him… To be quite honest after that I gave up hoping to see him again."  
While he talked his fingers fidgeted with the hem of his knitted jumper, avoiding eye contact with Anathema. He knew she was watching him. Taking a deep breath, he continued: " At the party, I went looking for you because you took awfully long for just going to the toilet, and I was worried. I bumped into him... oh dear, I got my beer all over his shirt. It was him, you see. I would recognize him everywhere. And I believe he did, too, but someone must have pulled him away because next thing I knew he was gone."  
For a while Aziraphale just stared into the distant. Anthony had recognized him, hadn't he? Aziraphale had to find him again, had to talk to him! And the what? Go back to how things used to be? Pretend they hadn't been apart for five years? Surely both of them had changed, so who knew if they would get along at all? Maybe they wouldn’t even like each other.  
That thought hurt. More than he cared to admit.  
"You think he's going to University here, too?" Anathema finally asked.  
Aziraphale focused his eyes on her, before answering: "I guess, he does. That party was basically students only, wasn't it? Though, I haven't seen him on campus before. Then again that doesn't have to mean anything…"  
"What's his name? Maybe I know him."  
"Anthony. Anthony Crowley." The name felt odd in his mouth. He hadn't said it out loud in a very long time. Yet, it also tasted familiar. Afterall, growing up he’d probably said it more often than his own.  
"Crowley, I think I might have heard that name before… Wait, he's one of the dudes hanging around Bee and that Lucifer guy. Shit, those people are very bad new from what I've heard. They are trouble"  
Aziraphale frowned. "Are you sure, my dear? Maybe you are mistaking him for someone else?"  
"I mean, I could. But Crowley isn't exactly a common name, is it?"  
Slowly, he shook his head, staring into the distance again.  
If he was being honest, trouble sounded just like Anthony.  
"So, you said, you were friend but then lost contact, right? 's not too bad. People often lose touch with their childhood friend, people change, grow up and move on."  
"You're probably right. Just didn't expect to see him, did I?" Aziraphale mumbled, once again avoiding to look at his friend. He was afraid of what she might read in his eyes. 

On a park bench opposite of a house where a party was still well underway, Anthony Crowley sat, starting at the distance. He did not notice the noise his friends were making, messing around in one way or another. His shirt was still wet with beer, and he was freezing in the late February air. That, too, he barely noticed.  
Blonde curls, round face and a ridiculous knit jumper were haunting his thought. Aziraphale. He had seen Aziraphale.  
At first, he was sure his mind had played a trick on him, as it often had in the first years After. He remembered how he once sprinted out of a bus just because they had passed a boy with light curls, dressed in a beige coat. Fifteen minutes it had taken him to find the boy again in the crowd of people, only to realize that he’d chased after a complete stranger. With time it had gotten better, and he had stopped hoping to one day come across Aziraphale, when actually he knew that the other boy was far away.  
But then he had seen him again across the street, leaving the party with a girl wearing a witchy kind of dress, black boots and a long coat. He had watched as the boy had carefully put on his coat and arranged his scarf. Everything about his movements so very thoughtful. There was no mistaking him. Aziraphale. His angel. He had reappeared in his life, just as suddenly as he had vanished.  
Crowley felt like he was going to be sick. How was he supposed to deal with this?  
"Jo! Dickhead, you coming, or what?" was shouted into his ear.  
He blinked.  
"Wot?"  
"Everyone's pissing off, so you gonna come, or na?" Bee said, staring up at him.  
"Yeah, ngk, whatever."  
Bee fixed him with their usual piercing glare. "What's wrong?" they demanded.  
Knowing it was no use denying anything in front of Bee, Crowley rubbed the back of his neck and muttered: "Jus' saw someone, I didn't expect to."  
Bee narrowed their eyes at him. "Well, that's got to be a hell of a someone to have you all twisted up like that."  
“Whatever, let’s go,” said Crowley, getting up from the bench, and stretching his long limbs.  
They followed the others, making their way back to their flat. Crowley shoved his hands into his pocket, trying to savor as much warmth as possible. It was bloody cold but he refused to wear any other jacket than his leather jacket because he had style.  
The streets were dark and deserted, the only sounds coming from his shouting mates.  
"It was him," Crowley muttered to himself.  
"Who?"  
Shit, he hadn’t thought that Bee was still paying attention to him.  
"The guy I saw tonight ’s the one I told you about…. back when... He was… We were…"  
Bee frowned. "You mean that douche who fucked off?"  
"Ngk, err, yeah, that's him."  
After that he didn't say anything. Just walked back to his dorm, not noticing the world around him.  
His heart beat oddly loud in his chest.  
Later when he lay in bed, trying to sleep, he listened to it. And every beat seemed to sound like a name.  
Aziraphale.  
Aziraphale. 

Age five:  
"You look like an angel."  
Startled, Aziraphale looked up from his book, and saw a red haired boy looking rather challenging at him. Nervously, he held his book in front of his chest, hugging it close, as if it could protect him from the possible threat that was the other boy.  
"I do not," he said defensively.  
The other boy was taller than him, and very thin, all bones and angles. His clothes were mostly dark, making him look cool and mysterious (at least that’s want Anthony hoped he look like). Overall, he looked like to opposite of Aziraphale, who was rather round around the middle (as some other kids liked to make fun of) and wearing a light blue button up and khakis.  
"Yeah, you do. 've seen ‘em on pictures an’ stuff. They're all soft an' with soft blonde curls. Jus' like you."  
Aziraphale frowned at that, not knowing whether he should feel insulted, or not. He couldn’t tell whether the other boy was trying to be mean and making fun of him.  
"I'm Anthony Crowley, by the way. And you look like you could need a friend...you know, sittin’ all alone with your book."  
Now he should definitely feel insulted. Yet, Aziraphale felt oddly intrigued by the way the other boy held himself. This utter confidence, as if it hadn't occurred to him that Aziraphale might reject him. And something about him made Aziraphale feel like the other boy was just as friendless as he was.  
"Alright, what do you want to play?" he asked, his voice tentiv, after deciding that, no, Anthony was not here to tease him.  
"I dunno, you chose, angel."  
And just like that they became friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	2. You Sit There In Your Heartache

When Crowley woke up the next morning he felt off. Something was amiss, and his stomach felt all wrong. At first, he thought it was because he had drunk too much the night before, slept too little, and was going to be late. Again. His lecture on classical mechanics had already started.  
Shit. Shit. Shit.  
Crowley jumped out of his bed, wriggled his legs into a pair of black skinny jeans, grabbed the shirt closest to him and a sweater jacket before running to crap some coffee from the kitchen (mercifully Hastur had left enough for another cup, though it was cold, and therefore discussing). Crowley drowned one cup, while struggling into his leather jacket.  
Within five minutes he was out on the pavement, running towards campus. At least he'd had enough sense about him to jam his sunglasses on his nose, and grab the right textbooks, which he was now trying to shove into his bag.  
It was only when he sat in his lecture (twenty five minutes too late) that he remembered what had happened last night.  
Shit.  
The professor was going on about god knows what, and Crowley knew he should listen to her, if he didn't want to fail his classes. If only his brain would decide to start working again.  
Aziraphale. Aziraphale's been at that party yesterday. Or had he been dreaming? No, he was sure he hadn’t made it up this time. Did that mean Aziraphale was going to Uni here, too? Why hadn't he seen him before?  
Because this Uni isn't exactly little, you idiot. He chided himself.  
Aziraphale was probably studying literature, or something similar, which meant that he'd be on a completely different part of Campus, right? He'd most likely find Aziraphale in the library of the English Faculty, nose stuck in a book. Brow furrowed, carefully taking notes in his neat handwriting.  
Crowley smiled. He bet he would find him right there.  
Then his smile vanished. If he would go looking for Aziraphale, he'd have to talk to him. Which would lead to having to face all these emotions and memories he'd spent the last five year desperately trying to shove away. Crowley wasn’t sure if he could stand that.  
His stomach did that thing again, where it felt like he came crashing down from the highest part of a roller-coaster.  
He was going to be sick. He'd never liked roller-coasters.  
Absentmindedly, he scribbled down some of what the professor was talking about but at the end of the lecture, he realized that he couldn't even make sense of his own notes. If someone were to asked him, he wouldn’t be able to tell them what this lecture had even been about.  
Cursing, he shoved his papers and textbook into his back, and went running to catch up with a certain dark hair girl. He hated to ask anything of her but he wasn’t too proud to risk failing his classes (afterall, he was paying hell lot of money for this degree, he wasn’t going to fuck it up halfway through).  
"Oi, Lilith! Wait!"  
He caught her just as she was making her way towards the front door.  
"What do you want, Crowley?" Her voice was cool as always. Lilith was tall, taller than most boys, which made it difficult to stare her down. Her hair was black, cascading down to her hips. Long dark lashes framed ice blue eye. Crowley had to admit that he wasn’t entirely immune to her beauty.  
"Can I copy your notes? I was late 'n' missed a bit 'n' then I had no clue what was goin' on."  
"Again?"  
Crowley grinned sheepishly. She rolled her eyes.  
"Well, what's in it for me?" Lilith asked, starting to walk again. Trying to be gentlemanly, Crowley hold the door open for her and followed her outside. The air was fresh but not as harsh as it had been the past weeks (still to cold for Crowley’s liking, though). For the first time it seem as if the winter was coming to an end.  
Crowley blinked, watching Lilith swinging her hips as she continued down the path. What's in it for me… He hurried to catch up with her again. "C'mon Lilith. We're friends, right?"  
She smirked. "You know I don't do friend, Crowley."  
Now it was his turn to roll his eyes.  
"Alright, what do you want, then?"  
Lilith let her eyes travel him up and down, before winking at him.  
"Seriously?" he groaned.  
"What? You're fun. And if I recall correctly you were enjoying yourself very much."  
"I was drunk."  
"The time before you weren't."  
Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets with more force than necessary, and clenched his jaw. He hated how Lilith always managed to make him squirm. But he was not going to beg her for some stupid notes.  
"Do you want the notes, or not?” she demanded.  
"Mhm, yeah, alright."  
She stopped underneath an old oak tree, looking him over once more. "Then come to my place at nine. You know, I won't force you to do anything you don't want to do."  
With that she left him standing, swinging his hip some more as she went.  
He knew he would do it. Not just for the notes. Lilith was right, it was fun. And maybe, just maybe, it could distract him for a while form thinking about blonde curls and soft smiles.  
Crowley groaned once more, and kicked the tree. Pain shot up his leg, and he instantly regretted his actions. Cursing, and glaring at everyone who dared to look at him, he walked towards his next seminar. He was going to be late. 

It was almost midnight, when Crowley finally got home. Copying Lilith notes hadn’t taken him long, and she’d even deigned to explain them to him. It was what followed that had taken longer than he had expected. Crowley enjoyed sex with Lilith, and it usually managed to distracted him for his thoughts for a bit. Not tonight, though. When she had kissed him, he had imagined her to be someone else. Usually, he also didn’t feel guilty about sleeping with her, afterwards.  
It was late, Crowley was tired, and he wanted to sleep, preferable for at least a decade.  
He wasn't the only one up, though. The kitchen lights were turned on, and he could hear the voices of Hastur and Ligur, his friends and flatmates. Unsure whether to seek out their company or go straight to bed, he stood in the dark hallway.  
Just as he decided to go to bed, Ligur called: "Crowley, you bastard! Where've you been?"  
Crowley sighed, dropped his bag next to the door to his room, and made for the kitchen.  
"Hi, guys. Sorry 'm late." Ligur was sitting on the counter with Hastur standing between his legs, arms around each other. The two of them were always all over the each other. "Ngk, get a room, will you?" Unexpected jealousy crawled into his stomach.  
That was knew, usually he didn’t envy his friends. Then again, today nothing seemed to be like it usually was.  
Hoping to find something eatable, Crowley opened the fridge.  
"So, where've you been? Thought we wanted to watch that move… wotsitcalled?" Ligur snarled. Fixing him with his unyielding stare.  
"Mhm, yeah, sorry, something came up." Crowley grabbed some leftovers from yesterday, fished a fork out of a drawer, and sat down at the kitchen table.  
"You're a shit friend, sometimes," Hastur growled.  
Guilt joined the jealousy but Crowley ignored it. He was good at that; ignoring and pretending away his feelings.  
Instead of articulating a real answer, he grunted, and pushed some stray strands of red hair from his face. A movement he regretted instantly because it revealed parts of his neck.  
"You were with Lilith, again!" Ligur smirked, and Hastur cackled.  
Crowley's hand shot up, and he tried to hide the hickeys and bites on his neck but the damage was already done. "Wha- no!"  
"Thought, you'd said you didn't wanna do that anymore."  
"Do her, you mean," Ligur sniggred.  
Crowley groaned. "There is nothing wrong with a… casual arrangement, as long as all involved are okay with it."  
Then he shoved some cold pasta in his mouth, hoping to avoid further conversation.  
"'m not judging you for casually shagging Lilith. But you did say you were done with her unless something happened that, I quote, ‘majorly fucked your brain up’." Crowley couldn’t stand the sirm on his friends faces.  
"So what's got your brain majorly fucked up?"  
To make clear he wasn't going to say one more word, Crowley cramed another load of food in, even though it tasted disgusting. Maybe he should have heated it before eating.  
"Is because of that guy - wotshisnameagain?" Hastur continued.  
At that, Crowley almost choked on the pasta. "How - how'd you - "  
"Bee told us."  
He tried to curse which turned out rather difficult with his mouth stuffed, and glared at Hastur and Ligur.  
"So it is about him?"  
"What's his name, anyways?"  
His two friends just wouldn't shut up, would they?  
Glaring for another two seconds, just for good measure, Crowley tried to swallow without dying of suffocation.  
At last, he said: " Aziraphale Zachariah Fell"  
The other two boys started laughing. "That's a shit name."  
Crowley growled. "Rich coming from a guy named Sammael Ligur.” That seemed to shut him up for a while.  
"So what's your deal with that Fell guy?" Hastur asked, finally letting go of Ligur, and sitting down opposite of Crowley. Ligur crossed his arms, and twisted his lips into a pout.  
"I don't want to talk about him"  
"One of your exs of sommin?" Hastur drilled down on him.  
"I said I don't want to talk about him. Hell, can you guys never let anything go?" Crowley tried to sound angry but failed miserably. Hell, what was wrong with him today? One glimpse of Aziraphale send him completely off his track.  
"'m guessing he broke up with you, otherwise you wouldn’t be so upset."  
"'m not upset!"  
Hastur cast him a pitying look. "Hell, yes, you are."  
Crowley knew, they wouldn't stop needling him until he said at least something. "Alright, yes! I am upset because of Fell.” Puncturing each word with as much annoyance as he could manage. “We used to be friend, fell in love, and it didn't work out. Are you happy now?"  
"Want us to kick his ass?" offered Ligur.  
"No, leave him alone. 'm not even sure if it was really him and if he's going to Uni here, or something."  
Silence followed. Crowley finished his cold pasta and chucked the dirty dishes in the sink. He'd deal with them tomorrow.  
"Anyway, I'm going to bed now."  
Thankfully, Hastur and Ligur let him go without further questions. 

In his room he leaned his back against the door, and took a deep breath. Just when he'd thought, he'd managed to get his shit together, at least somewhat, Aziraphale appeared, and shoved his world off its axis again. He closed his eyes, and pressed the heels of his hand into them. Why was this all happening to him? Hadn’t he been through enough because of Aziraphale?  
Crowley started to undress, leaving his clothes where they fell. When he reached his bed, he got to his knees, and looked underneath. There in the darkness corner sat a box. He grabbed that box, and pulled it out. Dust had settled in thick layers on it. The box hadn't been opened in years.  
Sitting down on his bed, Crowley brushed some of the dust onto his floor, tracing his fingers over the red cardboard.  
His chest felt as if some giant hand was trying to crush his ribs and heart. Leaving him bleeding and broken.  
The moonlight was shining into his room, softly illuminating what Crowley had crawled onto the box, years ago. Angel.  
No! He couldn't. Opening the box was too dangerous. Crowley could hardly manage his emotions as it was, and if he'd open that damned box, it'd only get worse.  
Still, he held onto it for a little longer, before setting it on his windowsill.  
There is sat. Crowley felt as it the box was mocking him.  
Sleep didn't come for a very long time, that night. 

Aziraphale, too, had troubles sleeping. To him that was nothing new, he'd had troubles falling asleep since he had been a kid, and then there were the nightmares which had only gotten worse five years ago.  
Tonight felt different, though. And Aziraphale knew exactly why.  
During the day, he'd managed to keep his mind busy and occupied with lectures, seminars, and then by working on one of his papers in the library.  
Now everything around him was quiet, nothing to keep him distracted. It gave his mind the chance to be loud. And loud it was.  
Anthony. Anthony. Anthony.  
The name seemed to echo through his head with every beat of his heart. Like a mantra.  
"Don't leave me," a familiar voice whispered. "Please, angel."  
Aziraphale pressed his hands on his eyes as if that was going to help. As if that could drown out his thoughts.  
When he concentrated hard enough, he could feel Anthony's finger ghost over his cheeks, his neck, his chest. Lips following.  
Suddenly, Aziraphale sat up in his bed.  
Hands hesitated only one second, before opening the drawer of his nightstand. On the bottom he found what he was looking for. A journal, clad in light blue cloth, pages yellowing. He brushed his fingers over the familiar texture, and opened the first page. The journal was full of sketches, someone else had drawn. Sketches of hands and eyes. Sketches of his Mum and his Dad. Sketches of Cathedrals and other grad buildings. Sketches of flowers and snakes. And sketches of him, Aziraphale. So many sketches of him.  
"Why do you keep drawing me?"  
"Because you're beautiful."  
He couldn’t remember the last time he had looked at the lines, his fingers now traveled over.  
In the very back of the journal sat a single picture. Aziraphale took it out, and studied it.  
Anthony had just turned 15 that day. He was sitting on the sofa in the Fell’s living room, wrapped up in a blanket. Aziraphale was next to him, arm slung around the other boy's neck, legs tangled together, making a silly face at the camera. What he hadn't know in that moment, was the way Anthony had looked. Not at the camera but at him. Anthony had looked at him as he was the only thing in the world worth looking at. So much wonder and admiration in his ember eyes. And love. He had looked at Aziraphale like he was the only thing he had ever loved and was going to love for the rest of his life.  
Aziraphale traced his fingers over Anthony's face.  
His Dad had take the picture in the winter before everything had started to fall apart.  
Hesitantly, Aziraphale turned the photo over, already knowing what he would find there. 

Angel,  
Thank you for today.  
I love you. Always.  
-A 

He stared at the words until they seemed to be burned on the inside of his eye lids, so that he could see them even when he closed his eyes. I love you, Angel. How he had treasured these words, this picture back then. He felt an echo of the warmth he had felt years ago.  
In the distance the church bells rang twice, shaking Aziraphale awake from his trance. Bugger. He really should try to get some sleep.  
Aziraphale closed the drawer. And as he slipped back under his covers, he pressed the journal and the photograph to his chest. 

Age six:  
Aziraphale was sitting at the kitchen table, holding a crayon in his hand, colouring an owl with careful motions. His Dad was preparing dinner, while his Mum sat with Aziraphale at the table, helping him with the painting in his colour book. Or at least that's what she had been doing before Aziraphale had asked why all the princes in the fairy tales she read to him, must marry a princess.  
"One day, when you are older, you'll meet a nice girl that you like and care about, then you'll fall in love, and then you might want to marry her, just like the prince did with the princess," his Mum tried.  
"No, I won't. That's stupid. If marrying someone is about loving them and caring and stuff, why can't I just marry Anthony? Actually, I think I would rather like to marry him very much."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone reading this.  
> Lemme know what you guys think.


	3. Reminiscing Every Night

The next week went by in a blur, and before Aziraphale knew it was Friday again. He had thrown himself into every bit of work he could find, spending even more time than usually in the library (thank God this terms finals were approaching, offering enough possibilities to keep busy). Mercifully, Anathema hadn't brought up last week's party again but he knew it was only a matter of time. He had noticed the way Anathema had studied him like a hawk, asked if he was alright but never pushing. She was waiting for him to come to her.  
Aziraphale sighed. He knew he should indeed talk to her, he couldn't let this eat him up. If it weren't for his cowardly heart he would have told her everything by now. But he was afraid of the memories that telling Anathema would conjure in his mind.  
He checked his watch, and sighed again. Four o'clock. Gabriel and Michael were probably blocking the kitch, as they did every Friday, and if he wanted to avoid them and their friends, he'd better stay away from their dorm for a while longer. Anathema would probably be off her shift soon. Yesterday, they had decided to go to the library together in the evening, to study a bit,work on their respective assignments. Might as well pick her up and crap some coaca, he thought.  
The Cafe in which Anathema worked (called The Hideout), wasn't too far off Campus, and often frequented by most of the students. It was a cozy little place, filled with odd chair and sofas, mismatched dishware, and homemade cakes. Their special cinnamon coaca which they served around Christmas was simply heavenly, or the custard cream cupcakes Aziraphale had tried last time… his mouth watered just thinking about them. A lot of the students worked there., and the place was often buzzing with life.  
The first of March had brought some more rain, but today was a nice day and Aziraphale enjoyed his little walk to the Cafe. The air tasted like spring was on its way. Spring was one of Aziraphale’s favourite seasons. Everything coming back to live, flowers blooming, and birds singing. It all had a rather magical air about it.  
With the end of term fast approaching, the Campus was bustling with students, even though it was Friday afternoon. Everyone was starting to prepare for exams and term papers, while dreaming about the term break after, and longing the stress to be over again. Two days after his last exam Aziraphale was going to visit his Mum in London ,and he had been glad to think about all the time he could spend reading, and lazing about. Now he dreaded the freedom it would give his thoughts to run off to red hair and freckled hands.  
No, that just won't do! Aziraphale thought. He mustn't let his mind stray again (Why was keeping one’s thoughts in check so hard?).  
Reaching The Hideout took him ten minutes, in which tried (and failed) to think about anything but Anthony J. Crowley. He longed to but also dreaded seeing him again. That is, if Anthony was even around, and they would somehow come across each other again. Aziraphale could go looking for him, couldn’t he? But he was unsure of where to start, and whether he really wanted to reach out to Anthony again.  
As he pushed open the door, he was greeted by warmth and the buzz of talking people. Just like the Campus, the Cafe was filled with students (though unlike Campus it wasn’t unusual for a Friday afternoon). Aziraphale spied Anathema at the counter and waved at her.  
"I'll be off in ten," she called, "Make yourself comfortable and I'll get you some cocoa. If you manage to find an empty spot."  
In the concert next to the toilets, Aziraphale found one last empty chair, and settled down. His scarf and coat went neatly onto back of the chairs, and his bag was placed under the table. While he waited for Anathema, Aziraphale observed to people around him, letting their chatters wash over him, like waves.  
"… but I just don't get it. How can he still trust Will?…"  
"… and the you take this part of the equation, see, as you multiply that…"  
"… are over, my brother and I are going to that show I told you about…"  
The sea of noise had a calming effect on his mind. Usually, he preferred quiet spaces, with enough room for him and his thoughts, but he didn't want to listen to them just now.  
"Got your cocoa to-go, Janet got in early for her shift, so we are good to go." Anathema handed him a steaming paper cup, and together they made their way towards the library, chatting about their lectures and seminars. As Aziraphale drank his cocoa (it was wonderfully warm and delicious) Anathema told him about Alice’s latest attempt to apologize to Anathema. They had been together for five month when, around Halloween, Anathema had found out that Alice had been cheating on her for the better part of their relationship. At first Anathema had been heartbroken, but then Alice had started to try to get Anathema to forgive her, at time apologizing and sweet, the next moment mean and threatening, telling Anathema she would make sure, no one would ever want to be with he again, if Anathema didn’t take Alice back.  
At the library they chose the quiet and less busy tables at the back on the second floor. There they had enough space to spread all their papers, books, and Anathema's laptop, and get comfortable. As their were working on their respective studies, Aziraphale noticed once more, the way Anathema kept looking at him. A kind of careful attention, like she was trying to read his thoughts. And yet she said nothing. For that Aziraphale was very grateful, Anathema never pushed when she knew Aziraphale needed spaces.  
Talk to her, said one part of his brain.  
There really isn't anything to talk about, insisted another part.  
Try telling that yourself.  
Aziraphale realized that he had read the same sentence over and over again, for the better part of five minutes, without absorbing any information. So he sat up a little straighter and folded his hands on the table.  
"Anathema," he started.  
"Mhm?"  
"I noticed that - er - it's just, I feel like - about last week…"  
She placed her hand on his and squeezed it briefly. "You seemed very off all week, since the party, since Anthony Crowley, but you don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to."  
"But I do. You see, I want to talk to you, dear. I just don't know how to start." A frustrated sigh escaped him. What good were all the books he had read, if he wouldn’t even manage more than three pathetic sentences? Where were all the words? Why did they abandon him in his time of need?  
"Okay, so, you said you saw that Crowley guy, who used to be your friend, but then you lost contact because you went away. Said Crowley might be going to Uni here, and he could be one of the guys hanging out with Lucifer and Co, right?" Anathema summed up all she knew thus far.  
Aziraphale nodded.  
"When you say friends, do you mean friends like you and I, or…?"  
"I loved him." He couldn't even look her in the eyes, as he whispered his confession.  
Anathema smiled at him, eyes full of sympathy and sadness. "Oh, Aziraphale."  
He took a shuddering breath, and then said very quickly: "You see it wouldn't - it could not work! We would have been unhappy. It was all for the best." His voice had taking a pleading tone, as if he was trying to convince her that he had done the only right thing.  
Deep down he knew that the only one, he was trying to convince, was himself.  
“Alright, I’ll let you be the judge of that. Can’t change the past, anyway, but what are you going to do now? Do you want to talk to him? Might do you some good, to be honest. You’ve been very… on edge since last week,” Anathema said.  
Aziraphale fixed his eyes on his hands, still not looking at her. “I don’t know, my dear. I must admit that I’m rather afraid of seeing Anthony again… yet at the same time there is nothing I want more.”  
“What’ve got to be afraid of?”  
Finally, Aziraphale lifted his eyes to hers. “I hurt him, very bad. I’m not sure if he has ever forgiven me for that… and if he hasn’t, I don’t want to be around to find out what it would be like if he resented me for what I did.” 

Crowley lasted about a week before he gave in. What a fool he was.  
It was Friday evening, and Hastur and Ligur were at Bee's, getting drunk on cheap wine, Lucifer had bought. Lilith was probably there, too. Crowley didn't want to get drunk, he didn't want his friends to ask questions, and he especially didn't want to be tempted into giving in to Lilith purring into his ear. He couldn’t let himself fall into bed with her again. Not now. Not ever again.  
That was how he found himself standing in front of double glass doors.  
Might as well go in, a voice in his head whispered. That's why you came, isn't it? To look for him.  
Shut up! He told that voice, as he pushed the doors to the library open.  
Inside Crowley was met with the odd silence that was singular to libraries, churches and such like. The silence seemed to settle over everything, but at the same time enhancing every sound that was left. And then there was the smell of books and paper. A smell his brain connected with Aziraphale. One of the reasons why he avoided libraries and bookshops.  
He passed the librarians desk in the front, and slowly made his way past the many shelves of books. Out of the corner of his eyes he checked the tables at which lots of students sat, either together in study groups or alone, writing on paper or tipping away at their laptops. All of them preparing for exams, something Crowley always put off till the last moment, only to get stressed and regrets it later. He examined the students again, none of them had the familiar halo of light hair he was looking for.  
Maybe he's not studying at this Uni, after all, Crowley thought, or maybe it wasn't even him that you saw. Like all the other times.  
But that was bullshit, and he knew it. He had felt it, deep in his heart. The boy he had seen last week, was the same he had tried so hard to forget (the same he just couldn’t give up).  
After his search yielded no results, Crowley walked back to the front, and up the stairs to the second floor, where he knew it was more quiet, and the table were at the far back. It was true, Crowley avoided the library if possible but that didn't mean he'd never been here before. He, too, had spend some time studying here (in an attempt to put at least some effort in his work), enough to be familiar with the layout.  
He rounded the corner of one shelf, and a group of tables came into view.  
There he was.  
Aziraphale.  
Sitting with the dark hair girl, Crowley had seen him leave the party with. Her back was to him but he could see her hunching over a laptop. In front of her sat Aziraphale, nose buried in a book, scribbling away on a paper next to it. Just like he had imagined.  
Crowley slipped into the aisle to his right. From here he could see Aziraphale through the gaps of the shelf, yet it was unlikely that Aziraphale would notice him.  
He rested his forehead against the shelf board in front of him, watching as Aziraphale worked. He took his time to study him in detail. Sure, he looked older than he had at fifteen (duh! - that what happens when one grows up) but he was still soft, still looking like an angel, with a halo of fluffy blonde curls. He still had a terrible clothing style, like he was stuck in another time period. Aziraphale was wearing a bowtie, for hell’s sake. Which twenty-years-old did that? It was bloody ridiculous.  
Talk to him, he told himself.  
What for? For him to break me again? I have nothing to say to him, the bitter part of his heart replied.  
It could be like it used to be, he offered.  
You know that's not true, you can't undone the last five years and ignore what happened!, The part of him that had never gotten over Aziraphale said.  
Watch me, he insisted stubbornly.  
In the end, however, he stayed right where he was, between the shelves, invisible to Aziraphale.  
You're being creepy.  
Shut up! 

Five hours later he crawled into his bed. After leaving the library, he had wandered across Campus and through the dark streets of the city, alone. Hands shoved into his pockets, blasting Love Of My Life on his headphones, like the pathetic fool he was.  
How had he come to this? Laying in bed at not even ten o’clock on a Friday night.  
The red cardboard box still sat on his windowsill, waiting to be opened. Crowley rolled onto his side and looked at it.  
Just get if over with, he told himself.  
Slowly, he reached for the box, half sitting up in his bed. Crowley’s hands shook slightly as he took off the lid. The insides were filled with photos and notes. He took a deep breath before taking the first one out. Aziraphale was fourteen, sitting in the back of the Fell’s car. He was holding a book on his lap, brow furrowed in concentration, reading aloud for Crowley, who had taken the picture without Aziraphale noticing, as light snowflakes fell outside the car window.  
How young he looks, Crowley wondered, while trying to remember what book it had been. Over the years Aziraphale had read so many books to Crowley that we couldn’t recall them all.  
The next picture showed them both, wearing nothing but swimming trunks, standing in the garden of the Fell’s house, age six. Aziraphale had his hands cupped around Crowley’s, who held a frog in his hands which they had found on a little pond not very far from where the Fells lived. Both of them looked completely mesmerized by the little creature.  
There was one picture of them dressed as knights, fighting with wooden swords. One of them in front of the colosseum in Rome, twelve-year-old Crowley sulking, while Aziraphale smiled brightly. One Crowley had taken of Aziraphale, looking very excited as the visited The Globe Theatre. And another, the two of them, ten or nine, sleeping in a pillowfort they had built.  
Underneath the pictures Crowley pulled out a folded paper. It was filled with word written in Aziraphale’s neat handwriting. 

My dearest Anthony, 

I am no Shakespeare nor Kaets, so forgive me if my words sound plain. But I have to try to tell you: You are the love of my life, and I wish to never be parted from you. Your laughter and your voice are the sweetest sounds to me. There is nothing more beautiful than you, when you smile at me. Nothing tastes better than your lips on mine. I want to fall asleep in your arms for the rest of my life.

Always yours,  
Aziraphale 

Crowley remembered, how he’d blushed, when he’d first read the letter at fifteen. Aziraphale had slipped him the folded note in between classes, after they’d been together for a year.  
Crowley only realized, he was crying, when he saw tears dripping onto the paper. He was crying over the cheesy words of a fifteen-year-old! Luckily, only the moon was here to bear witness.  
Suddenly, angry with himself he shoved everything back into the box, sat it down next to his bed, and pulled his blanket over his head. 

Age seven:  
"Aziraphale, talk to me. 'm so bored," Anthony whined, dramatically flinging himself across the other boy, who sat on his bed reading.  
"Come on, why can't we go outside 'n' drive our bike, or stuff?"  
"Because it's raining. We'll get soaked, and also I'd rather keep reading," Aziraphale replied, his eyes never leaving the page, as he shoved Anthony off the bed.  
"But 'm bored."  
His statement went ignored, so Anthony climbed back onto the bed, and snuggled up next to Aziraphale, resting his head on the other's shoulder.  
"What are you reading, anyways?"  
"Peter Pan."  
Anthony scoffed. Stupid Aziraphale, with his stupid books. Why couldn't he play with Anthony? He tried to glare at his friend till he would finally put the book aside, and give him some attention. But as always when he was reading, Aziraphale seemed completely oblivious to the world around him.  
"Angel?" he asked.  
"Hm?"  
"Read to me?"  
So Aziraphale did: "’You just think lovely wonderful thoughts,’ Peter explained, "and they lift you up in the air.’ He showed them again. "  
Anthony would never admit it but he loved it when Aziraphale read to him. Somehow, he always struggled to be completely captivated by a book, the way Aziraphale was. But when he could close his eyes and let his best friend's voice paint the pictures for him, he felt a rare peacefulness settle into his bones. It became one of their habits, after a while. Whenever Aziraphale was reading and Anthony had nothing to do himself, he would huddle up next to his friend, and quietly say: "Read to me?" and Aziraphale loved nothing more than doing just that. He loved books and reading, and he loved Anthony, which made reading to him one of his favorite things to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading :)  
> Just in case anyone was wondering all chpater titles are lines from songs.


	4. All That Will Come In Between

For the last two hours, Aziraphale had been staring into the distance, as he sat of the tiny kitchen in his dorm. It was saturday afternoon, the weekend before the exams started. As March was coming to an end, spring had fully arrived. The birds were singing outside, and the sun shone warmly. Aziraphale, however, was stuck inside. After studying since getting up in the morning, Aziraphale had just wanted to take a quick break, to get some tea and maybe one or two biscuits. Now his tea had grown cold, and the bag of biscuits was almost empty. Aziraphale didn’t notice any of this, his was mind far away.  
Most nights of the past weeks he had spent lying awake, thinking about how and where he could find Anthony, without looking like he was trying too hard to find him. Anathema had told him that Crowley and his friends (or what they guessed his friends to be, if Anthony was indeed the Crowley Anathema had heard of from one of her friends) sometimes hung around a bar called The Fallen, where punk and rock bands played regularly. He didn’t want to draw the attention of a group of troublemaker (according to their reputation) and there was simply no way, Aziraphale would go unnoticed in a bar like that. He also didn’t want to talk to Anthony while his friends were possibly watching them.  
Unfortunately, he had no idea what Anthony was studying, so Aziraphale didn’t know at what faculty he could be found. Maybe he studied arts, he’d always loved to sketch. Aziraphale also didn’t know in which dorm the other boy lived, if he stayed at Campus at all, and not in some flat in the city. Where should he look? Five years ago, Aziraphale had almost always knows exactly where to find other boy, now he didn’t even know where to begin his search.  
Yet, for all his thinking about meeting Anthony again, Aziraphale wasn’t even sure if he actually wanted to meet him. Certainly, Aziraphale longed to see Anthony, but how would it be, to come face to face with him? What would they say? How would they act, after not seeing each other for five year?  
Aziraphale pushed another biscuit into his mouth, chewing slowly. What would he say?  
“Shouldn’t you be studying?” a harsh voice said, dragging him back to reality.  
Aziraphale blinked, and looked up to see Gabriel, with whom he shared the dorm, standing in front of him. Gabriel, whom Aziraphale tried to avoid as much as possible.  
“I’m sorry, dear, what was that?”  
Gabriel scoffed. “Shouldn’t you be studying, instead of shoving all those-” he gestured to the biscuits ”-into your mouth? You know, Aziraphale, you could really do without eating all the candy, if you wanna lose the gut… it’s no wonder you’re so … round.” Gabriel flashed Aziraphale one of his too wide fake grins, before he took one of his protein shakes from the fridge, and left the kitchen.  
Aziraphale blinked again, and then put down the biscuit he’d been about to eat. He hated how Gabriel always talked to him like he was beneath him. Hated how he criticised everything Aziraphale did. Very much like one of the kids in primary school, mocking him for being soft. Only now Anthony wasn’t around to play tricks on Gabriel, like he used to do on all the kids that made fun of Aziraphale.  
Right. He needed to get some real food. How about some pasties? he thought while cleaning up. Aziraphale went to his room, to grab his coat, and put his shoes on. Then he made his way over to the best bakery in town. 

A smile spread over Aziraphale’s lips, as he breathed in the smell of bread, sugar and freshly baked goods, took in the sight of little cakes, hazelnut buns and pastries. On his way over, he had decided to surprise Anathema with whatever deliciousness he was going to buy. He found that food always tasted better shared. Also, a little chat with her sounded rather nice, after the dreadful encounter with Gabriel. Those Cornish pasties looked simply delightful.  
“Thank you, my dear,” he said to the lady behind the counter, after he had ordered, and she had passed him a bag full of pasties.  
With the bag in hand, he left the shop, a fresh wind blowing his hair into his face. As started towards the bus stations to take the next bus back to Campus, his mobile phone suddenly started to ring. He took it out of his pocket, and stopped dead. Oh, bugger!  
He knew, he couldn't ignore this calls forever, sooner or later he'd have to pick up. Might as well get it over with. Aziraphale hesitated a moment longer before taking the call.  
"Eliot? Why do you keep calling me? I told you it was over."  
"Aziraphale?" the boy on the the other line breathed.  
"Yes, it's me. Please, stop calling me," Aziraphale said primly.  
"Don't hang up, please. I - I thought we could talk" Eliot sounded as if he was on the verge of tears. Guilt gnawed at Aziraphale’s gut.  
He sighed again, and said much softer: "I don't think that's good idea. There really is no need for that."  
"I know you said it was over, and I get you think it's, too complicated with you being back in England but I might get this intern at that company in London, and then we could - we could try again." Eliot spoke very fast, afraid Aziraphale would hang up before he could finish.  
Aziraphale closed his eyes. "Eliot - I - the reason I broke up with you isn't about me being here. I just - I don't think, I feel the same way about you, as you do about me, and I'm sorry, if I somehow led you on, it was rather selfish of me, I thought this could work out but… I'm sorry." He hated having to hurt the other boy, didn’t know how to deal with Eliot’s pain, when all Aziraphale wanted was to leave it all behind. That was one reason he had ignored the calls for so long; he was too much of a coward, sometimes, to face the results of his actions.  
"Please, Aziraphale." He couldn’t stand the pleading in the other’s voice, knowing there was nothing he could do to comfort him.  
"I'm sorry, Eliot. I'm going to hang up now. Goodbye." Aziraphale hung up, feeling rude, feeling like a total asshole, and pocketed his phone. Taking a steadying breath he resumed his walking. The rest of the way to the bus station, he was lost in thoughts, for once not because of Anthony.  
Eliot and Aziraphale had dated for six months, after meeting at University in the States. It had been nice in the beginning; Eliot had made him laugh, and had actually listened to him. As time went on, Aziraphale had realized that he didn't love Eliot, in the way he tried to. He had realized how unhappy he was. Not necessarily because of Eliot alone but with his life in general. He had decided to give up studying business management in New York (not knowing what on earth had possessed him to start, in the first place), and to go back to England, where he would study Literature and History instead. Aziraphale had (cowardly) used this as an excuse to end things with Eliot. Now the other boy tried to talk Aziraphale into giving him another chance, constantly calling him, or writing emails.  
At last, the bus arrived, and he got on, using the front door. As Aziraphale walked down the aisle, he saw someone getting up in the back of the bus. That someone wore black clothes and sunglasses, and his flaming red hair was coming in loose waves onto his shoulders. He was talking into a phone, which was pressed to his ear, while stepping off the bus without looking up, swinging his hips in that ridiculous fashion of his.  
Aziraphale froze, his heart sped up. Anthony. Of all the ways to run into him again, it happened now? On the bus? He felt a sudden urge to run after the other boy. And then what? a voice in the back of his mind whispered, you wouldn’t even know what to say to him.  
Aziraphale sat down, not sure his legs would be able to support him right now. His insides doing something rather complicated that he couldn’t describe. Maybe Anathema could help him sort out this mess in his head. 

“Does that mean you’re gonna talk to him?” Anathema asked. They were sitting in the little kitchen of Anathema’s dorm. Her flatmates had left a few minutes ago, after stealing one of the pasties Aziraphale had brought, and chatting a bit about the upcoming hell that would be next week’s exams.  
Aziraphale took another bite of his pasty, releshing for a moment in the taste of mince, onions and buttery crust. Perfectly delightful. “I’m not sure,” he said, finally, ”The thing is, I want to talk to him… but I simply wouldn’t know what to say.”  
Anathema, who was sitting across from him, dressed in her usual long skirt and witchy blouse, pushed her plate towards Aziraphale. As always she wondered how Aziraphale managed to eat so much, she was already full after half a pasty, and he just happily munched on. “How about: ‘Hello, Anthony, long time no see. How do you do?’”  
Aziraphale glared at her, but took the pasty onto his plate. “Don’t be ridiculous! I couldn’t possibly say that.”  
“I was joking,” Anathema said rolling her eyes. “So what’s your plan, then?”  
“I don’t know, study for the exams, ignore what happened, and hope everything goes back to normal, in a few weeks?” Aziraphale tried, smiling weakly.  
“That is so totally the wrong way of dealing with all this.”  
They finished the pasties (or rather Aziraphale did, while Anathema nursed a cup of coffee) and talked for a bit longer, without finding actually solution with which Aziraphale would be happy. The only place they knew Anthony frequened was the bar, and Aziraphale was not sure he could brave going there. Later Aziraphale went to his dorm (thankfully he managed to avoid Gabriel and Michael). Aziraphale knew he wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon, so he spent most of the night tyring (emphasis on trying) to study for his course Meaning and Form in Poetry, which would be his first exam the following Monday. 

Next week went by in a blur. All Aziraphale knew was hurrying from on exam to the next, sitting for a couple of hours scribbling away on his papers, and sleeping even worse as usual.  
Now term was over, and Aziraphale had a roughly a month before the next trimester started. His last two weeks on Campus had been stressful to say the least, but, overall, he felt confident as to what his results where going to be, he knew didn’t have to worry about possibly failing any of his classes. What he did worry him, though, was Anthony. Even as he’d been busy with exams and papers, he had not stopped trying to come up with a way he could talk to Anthony. The day before his Mum had picked him up, he had even gone to the bar where he supposedly hung out. No luck there. He had arrived at the dark, grimy place around nine pm to find it occupied by mere three people, who were sitting at the bar, head hung over their drinks, and, overall, painting a rather pathetic picture. The room had reeked of stale cigarette smoke and old beer. In one corner he could make out a tiny stage, currently taken up by a billiard table and a old, faded sofa. The whole place had been tinted in a defuse yellowish light. Aziraphale hadn’t even walked through the door completely, before turning around again. What a horrid place to spend someone’s time at!  
Now, Aziraphale was sitting at the kitchen table in his Mum’s London flat, eating dinner. The flat was small, with a tiny bedroom, and a living room that opened into the kitchen. It was nothing compared to the house he had grown up in, or his aunt’s place in America, where they both had lived during their time in the States. However, it was just as comfortable, filled with books and plants, family pictures and blankets. Aziraphale didn’t mind sleeping on the sofa, whenever he visited his Mum.  
He loved London, and he loved staying with his Mum. When she had decided to come back to England, he’d been rather relieved to not have an ocean between then but only a few miles. Yet, he found himself not being able to enjoy his stay, as much as he had during winter break. His Mum seemed to notice that, too.  
“Aziraphale, are you alright?” she asked, after she had watched her son staring into nothing for twenty minutes, his food barley touched. Rather unusual, as he normally loved the food she prepared (not that she was taking his lack of appetite personal).  
Aziraphale focused his eyes on his Mum. Her words had brought him back to reality “Mhm? Of course, I am alright. Why wouldn’t I be?” He grabbed his fork again, and placed some Lasagne into his mouth, avoiding her eyes.  
His Mum raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know. You tell me. I just noticed you seem to be awfully distracted. Usually, you devour my Lasagne, and since I picked you up I’ve hardly seen you eat anything. Something’s on your mind, bothering you.” She  
Aziraphale took a napkin and dabbed his mouth, then he folded his hands in this lap, still not looking his Mum. Finally he said: “Mum, I saw him. I saw Anthony again.”  
Silencen. Then: ”Oh, honey… Anthony? Your Anthony?”  
“He is not my Anthony, Mum,” Aziraphale said, “You know that. But yes. Apparently, we are studying at the same University. I just hadn't noticed him until recently.”  
His Mum took his hand. “Did you talk to him?”  
Aziraphale looked up then. His Mum’s eyes were full of concern, and sympathy. “No, I - I didn’t get the chance to. Also, I don’t know what I’d say to him after - after everything.”  
Aziraphale’s Mum flinched slightly but didn’t take her hand away. “Honey, I’m so sorry -”  
“It’s okay, Mum. I know how hard it was for you. I’m not mad at you, not anymore.” Aziraphale squeezed her hand, reassuringly. He meant what he said. Even if he’d had spent a long time being mad at her, he had forgiven her eventually. She was his Mum, afterall. The only parent he had left.  
“But that doesn’t make it alright. My decisions put you in so much pain. Both of you. And I’m sorry. Sometimes I regret it, making you leave everything behind. I just - I couldn’t bear it.” She took a shuddering breath.  
Aziraphale tried to smile at her. “I know, Mum. I know.”  
After dinner, the did the dishes together, and then watched one of his Dad’s old favourite movies.  
Later, just as Aziraphale got comfortable on the sofa, and his Mum had gone to bed, Anathema called him. Her voice was a welcome surprise. She told him about a guy she’d met. He’d crashed his bike in front of her dorm and gotten a nasty cut on his forehead. Anathema who had just gotten home, had taken him to her dorm to patch him up. His name was Newt. Aziraphale listened to her rapid flow of words, her voice mingling with the sounds of the London at night. The city never seemed to sleep. That was one of the things Aziraphale liked about it. It made him feel like he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep, when all others were resting.  
Aziraphale and Anathema stayed on the phone for two hours before they went to bed. Anathema told him of her mother, promising to come visit her in summer, and Aziraphale told her about going to the theatre with his Mum before coming back to Campus. When they hung up, Aziraphale felt a little better. Yet, soon, as he lay in the dark, his mind drifted back to Anthony. 

Age eight:  
“Why do we never play at your place?”, Aziraphale asked.  
Anthony, who had just finished draping the last blanket over their pillowfort, stopped dead.  
“My place’s not as nice as yours”, he mumbled, not looking at his friend.  
Aziraphale got comfortable on one of the many pillows that made up the inside of their little castle. “So what? We could bring some books, and I could read to you.”  
Anthony sat down next to Aziraphale, fingers fidgeting with one of the fringed blankets. “I don’t like being home, I don’t like being around my father.”  
“Okay, then let’s just stay here.”  
Silence. And then: “Do you mind that I’m here every day?” Anthony’s voice was filled with insecurity. He kept his eyes fixed on his finger, which he had digged into the blanket.  
Aziraphale took his hand. “Of course not, you’re my best friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading and leaving kudos.  
> Please, let me what you thought of this chapter! Comments mean a lot to me, even if it's just to tell me what you didn't like.


	5. One More Yesterday

Age nine:  
"I think we should kiss."  
It was a hot summer day, and the boys were outside in the garden, sitting on the swings but feeling to lazy with heat to actually do the swinging. They'd spend the morning hours fighting with water pistols, yelling, and running around the garden. Now, as their clothes dried , they just sat there, and talked about the tree house they wanted Aziraphale’s Dad to build in the old oak. That's what they did at least, until Anthony's proposal had stopped Aziraphale's rambling.   
"What?"   
Anthony slowly dragged his feet on the ground and then turned to look at his best friend. "I said 'I think we should kiss'. Y'know jus' to see wha' all the fuss' about."  
Aziraphale thought this over in his head. Last week in school, all the girls had been giggling about Lucas, who had asked Lily to be his girlfriend, and when she had said yes, he had kissed he really quick on the mouth, and then run off. Now kissing seemed to be all their classmates talked about.   
"Alright", Aziraphale said after a while, "How do we do it?"   
"I dunno. Guess you just put your lips like this", Anthony demonstrated, looking like he was pouting. "And the you put 'em together. Jus' like when you kiss your Mum goodnight, I guess."   
"Okay." Aziraphale pursed his lips, as if trying to see if his lips could do it.   
Neither of them moved from their swing, though. Which kind of put a temporary end to Anthony's plan.   
Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Fell called the boys in for lunch. She was so used to having Anthony around by now that she, or her husband, always cooked for four. In fact, Anthony spend more time at the Fell's house than he did at his home. Most of his clothes, playthings and schools supplies were scattered around Aziraphale’s room, and he only went to his father's place when absolutely necessary. Anthony's mother had left when he was three, and his father didn't really care about him. Anthony knew it could've been worse. At least his father didn't hit him, or abused him in any way other. But neither did he care what his son was doing, or whether he was coming home. He liked it best when his son left him alone, and didn't want to be reminded of Anthony's mother, whenever he had to looked at the boy.   
It wasn't until the boys were sitting in the garden again, this time underneath the big old oak tree in the back, both of them holding ice-cream that made their hands and mouth all sticky and sweet, when Anthony brought up the kissing again.   
"So should try it?"   
"Try what?", Aziraphale asked, a little confused as they had been talking about space adventures up until now.   
"Kissing, angel."  
"If you want to."  
Again both boys tried out the movement with their lips but didn't do the actual kissing. A few minutes passed without either of them saying anything, and Aziraphale went back to eating his ice-cream. Until suddenly, Anthony leaned forward, and pressed his pursed lips against Aziraphale’s, who did nothing but blinking at him, dumbstruck.   
"Mhm," Anthony said after a moment of silence, "maybe it gets better with practice?" He frowned.   
"Maybe, but I don't think I'd like to kiss girls anyways. Or marry them. My Mum once said that when I grow up, I'll fall in love, and marry one of them. Gross." At that thought, Aziraphale made a face.   
Anthony studied his friend, melting ice-cream forgotten in his hands. He still thought that Aziraphale looked like an angel, all soft and light colours. He decided that he didn't want to marry some random person either.   
"I think, I'd like to marry you, when we're grown ups", he said while starting to pull out strands of grass. “ We could live in a huge castle with enough space for all your books, and a huge garden with all kinds of plants and trees to play in. An’ no one would make us go to school an’ do stuff we don’t like."   
That made Aziraphale looked up from his ice-cream to his best friend, who was avoiding his eyes.   
"I'd like that, too." And suddenly, feeling very brave he pecked his lips against Anthony's, and then ran off, still grabbing his ice-cream in his sticky hand, knowing that Anthony would chase after him.   
What neither of them knew, was what happened inside the house at that moment.   
Mrs. Fell had been standing at the kitchen window, when her son had leaned over, and kissed Anthony on the mouth.   
Smiling, she turned to her husband, who was sitting at the table behind her. "Did you see that? Our son just kissed his best friend, and then run off."  
"Did he, now? Well, he did say he wanted to marry him some three years ago, didn't he?"   
For a while they watched the children running around the garden, chasing each other.   
"You know, I'll give them another five years, before they'll start snogging in earnest", Mr. Fell chuckled, putting an arm around his wife.   
"Robert! They are children!" Mrs. Fell pushed playfully at his chest.   
"What? I'm not saying they should make out now! I only mean that it's obvious how much they love each other, even if they don't know it yet. And when we were around 15, I certainly remember, sneaking out at night, just to come, and kiss you."

Age ten:  
Anthony woke up in the middle of the night. It was still dark outside, which meant that he had at least a few hours left until he had to get up for school. Happy to try and do just that, he rolled onto his side, and closed his eyes. Just as he was about to drift of again, Anthony realized what had woken him up. Aziraphale was mumbling and flinching.   
“Aziraphale?” he asked, sitting up in the bed, Aziraphale and he shared almost every night. When Anthony had first started to frequently stay the night, there had been a mattress on the floor, next to the bed. But then Anthony had started to crawl in next to his friend, whenever Aziraphale had nightmares like he did this night. Soon Anthony had abandoned the mattress completely, the bed was more comfortable anyways, and Aziraphale did sleep a little better with Anthony by his side. So, Mr. Fell had moved the mattress back onto the attic.   
Aziraphale started to whimper and toss. It sacred Anthony a bit, even though, he’d seen it many times before.  
“Angel, wake up! Wake up, you’re having a nightmare.” He grabbed Aziraphale’s shoulder and shook him. “It’s okay, I’m here. You got to wake up. It’s gonna be alright. Aziraphale, please, you’re dreaming.”   
Suddenly, Aziraphale sat up, eyes wide open, terror still on his face. He panted: ”What? Where am - Anthony?” And then did something Anthony didn’t anticipated: He reached out and flung his arms around Anthony’s neck.  
“I thought - I thought, I was going to die, and I was so afraid,” Aziraphale sniffed.  
Anthony patted his friends back. “It was just a bad dream. Do you want me to get your Mum?”  
Aziraphale shook his head. “As long as you’re here, I’m fine.”  
“Okay,” said Anthony, “but, angel, you’re kinda suffocating me.”  
“Oh, sorry.”  
“‘s alright.”

Age eleven:  
The sound of the waves and seagulls, the heat of the sun in a lazy breeze lulled Anthony into a drowsy slumber. He laid with his eyes closed in the shadow of the large sunshade Mr. Fell had put up. Since Aziraphale and him had been old enough to learn how to swim, the Fells had taken both kids to the beaches in Cornwall almost every summer, occasionally to other places in Europe. His own father had barely taken Anthony anywhere within the city they lived, let alone on any kind of holydays. Then again, Mr. and Mrs. Fell where more parents to him than his own. Sometimes Anthony wished, his father would die so that Robert and Diana could adopt him. They and Aziraphale were his family.  
Chubby fingers poke along his right shoulder. Anthony blinked into the sudden light, as h opened his eyes, and saw that Aziraphale had laid down next to him, on his side, head propped on one hand.   
“Wot is it?”, Anthony asked.  
Aziraphale smiled, eyes fixed on his own fingers that seemed to draw something onto Anthony’s skin. “You have so many freckles. Not only on your face but on your shoulders, arms, and hands too.”  
Anthony frowned: “I know, so wot?”  
Aziraphale only smiled, and shrugged. The he looked up mischief gleaming in his eyes.”I bet, I’ll race you to the water.”  
Anthony scrambled to his feet. “Hell no, you won’t”  
Both kids started to run off to the ocean, where they splashed and dunked each other into the water, laughing, with the salt of the sea on their lips.

Age twelve:   
Aziraphale was reading reading Howl's moving castle to him, while Anthony sat on the floor, drawing the castle.   
“You’re getting really good, you know,” Aziraphale said putting the book down to look at the sketch book. Anthony just shrugged. Mr. Fell had gotten him his first sketch book almost a year ago, for his last birthday, after Anthony had said that he wanted to be a real artist, and not do the boring stuff they had to do in school. Ever since then, Anthony drew pictures of the scenes Aziraphale read.  
“When you become an artist, I’ll be an author, and together we can write graphic novels.”  
Anthony frowned. “But you’re a reader, not an author.”  
“But I could be. I would write the best stories in the world so you can draw them!”   
Anthony smiled. “I’d like that, angel. Now read on, I wanna know what happens.” 

Age fourteen:  
"For heaven's sake, Anthony stop kicking, I'm trying to sleep", Aziraphale grumbled. He shoved his best friend, and then claimed back the part of the blanket that was rightfully his.   
"'ry, is jus' I feel like my mind is running a million miles an hour, and I can't get it to shut up", came the mumbled answer. It was way past midnight, and tomorrow was a schools day. The house around them was quite, the darkness only filled with their breathing and the sound of Anthony tossing and turning so that Aziraphale couldn't sleep either. Mostly, he didn't mind sharing his bed with the other boy (he rather enjoyed it, the comfort and safety he only felt with Anthony was with him) but at nights like this, he wanted to push Anthony out onto the floor, just to finally get some sleep.   
"Alright, what is it?", Aziraphale asked instead.   
Anthony tossed some more before finally whispering:" My father. I think he started drinking again. I dunno. Maybe if I was around more often, I could get him to be more... I dunno, present? Sometimes, it feels like he's livin' in the past. Don't think he ever got over my mother leavin' 'im."  
Aziraphale turned around, facing his best friend. In the dim light from the street post, flitting through half closed blinds, Aziraphale could barely make out Anthony's face. He didn't need to. He knew his face better than his own. The slim nose and sharp cheeks, dusted with light freckles, the ember eyes and thin lips that always betrayed his emotions no matter how hard he tried to play it cool. The fine, red hair which he had cut short just two weeks back. Aziraphale missed the long strands, how they had curled onto Anthony's freckled shoulders, or trickled Aziraphale’s face when the slept huddled close.   
Now he reached out one hand and placed it on Anthony's cheek. "Hey, what your father is doing is not your fault. He might as well have abandoned you, since most of the time he doesn't even know where you are, even though it'd be an easy guess if only he knew anything at all about you."  
Anthony inched a little closer, and now Aziraphale could feel the other's breath on his own lips. His heart did that weird thing it lately did so often. First it stumbled, only to then continue beating faster than it had before.   
"Yeah, I know. To be honest your Dad and Mum feel more like parents than my real do. Remember how your Mum taught us to swim, that summer when you took me to the beach the first time? Or how your Dad taught us riding the bike and I fell and my knees where bleeding like hell, your Dad felt so guilty about it that he started crying too, until you went to fetch your Mum, who patched me up again."  
Aziraphale chuckled, his Dad had always been more emotional than his Mum.   
"Or how Dad came too late to your theater play in fourth grade, and how upset he was to have missed most of your performance."   
"You know, it still meant a lot to me that he came, when my dad didn't." Aziraphale could hear the sad smile in Anthony's voice.   
"Remember when", he started, just to distract his best friend from his sorrows and himself from the fact how close Anthony's body was, how he could feel the heat that seemed to radiate from him.   
For a while they continued reminiscing their shared childhood. Remembering all their little adventures.   
"Remember when we were nine, and kissed just to see what all the fuss was about?", Aziraphale eventually asked, voice barely more than a breathless whisper. It was weird; the way his body was behaving. He'd spend so many nights sleeping next to or even cuddling with his best friend, and yet his heart sped up as if they'd never touched before, excitement and anticipation making him all giddy.   
"Yeah, didn't understand the hype back then, to be honest."  
Silence filled the room, as Aziraphale became hyper aware of every movement of Anthony, while trying to find something to say. Was he imagining this, or had Anthony just moved closer?  
"Maybe we could try again?" the question barely audible, over the drumming of Aziraphale's ridiculous heart. "What?", he breathed, sure he must have misheard.   
Anthony repeated: "Maybe we could try again.. Only - only if you wanna."  
Aziraphale was relieved to realize that his best friend was just as nervous as he was.   
"Yes," he whispered.   
He felt Anthony's hand carefully coming to rest on his hip, and placed his own hand against Anthony's neck, itching closer. It took them a while to adjust to this new turn of events. Their faces mere inches apart now.   
"Hi", Aziraphale mumbled, breath hitching.   
"Hi", Anthony returned, smiling.   
Aziraphale took all his courage together, and gently placed his lips on Anthony’s.   
A sudden current went through his body. It felt like every nerve in him was heighten. Then he started moving his lips, mirroring Anthony’s. Kissing was wetter than he’d thought it to be, he wasn’t sure how he felt about that discovery. After a few seconds they broke apart.   
"What do you think?"  
Aziraphale took a while to think about it before answering:"A bit awkward, if I'm being honest."  
The other boy laughed, and pressed his face against Aziraphale’s neck, who responded with putting his arms around him. Even though it had be awkward and weird, he hadn’t disliked it. Aziraphale felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with the blanket that covered them both, and everything with the way Anthony pressed his whole body against him. It was, he thought, like they were in their own little cocoon, nothing but the two of them existed, in that moment. Anthony lifted his head again, brushed Aziraphale cheek with his fingers.   
"Yeah, a bit odd… Wanna try again, angel?"   
"Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd do a whole chapter of memories, hope you like it.  
> Let me know what you guys think.  
> And thanks for reading :)


	6. Why Don’t We Rewrite The Stars

His Mum was working today, so she'd dropped Aziraphale off at the train station, instead of driving him all the way back to University. He didn’t mind that. He enjoyed long train rides.  
Sitting in the by the window, Aziraphale watched as the landscape flew past him. In London it had rained but as they had traveled north, out of the city, the sky had cleared up, showing a soft blue sky. Aziraphale had a book open in his lap (short stories by Oscar Wilde) but at some point he’d stopped reading, looking out of the window instead. Yesterday, his Mum had taken him to the National Theatre, they had seen Robin Hood, and it had reminded Aziraphale how he had read the stories to Anthony, when they were younger. Why did everything have to remind him of the other boy?   
Overall, his stay with his Mum had been wonderful but he was glad to go back to Campus now. Almost every day, his Mum had tried to talk to him about Anthony again, to which Aziraphale had answered with switching topics. When she had hugged him goodbye, at the station, she had whispered: “Try to talk to him. I’ve never seen you so off. It’ll be alright, you’ll see. Just talk to him.” If only it was as easy as that.  
Two hours later, he got off the train. It had gotten rather warm, so he stuffed his scarf into his bag, and headed towards the exit. With the bus it would take him only fifteen minutes to get to Campus but it was a very fine day, so he decided to walk.   
Anathema had called him again last night, to tell him that she was about to have a date with that Newt guy. Rather curious about how that had turned out, Aziraphale thought about paying her a visit later. Way better than another phone call, or god forbid texting. He just couldn’t get the hang of all that texting business. It prolonged every conversation, and only led to misunderstandings. Why bother, when one could just talk, or call?   
It took Aziraphale about half an hour to reach the outer parts of Campus. The end of term had emptied the grounds of the University, and Aziraphale only met a few other students.   
Busy with his own thoughts, he didn't realize that he'd lost his scarf, until a voice called from behind him. "Hey, you lost this."  
Turning around, Aziraphale started: "Oh, dear, thank you, I'll lose my head ne-" Then he stopped dead, forgetting what he was about to say, forgetting how to breathe.   
"Hello, Aziraphale." Anthony J Crowley stood in front of him, one hand shoved into his pocket, the other holding out Aziraphale’s scarf. Dressed as always in black and sunglasses.   
"Anthony," Aziraphale wisphered, his heart stopped and then stumbled on.   
"Actually, I go by Crowley now." It was so hard to read his expression with that stupid sunglasses. Anthony’s eyes were so expressive that Aziraphale used to be able to read every thought and emotion in them.   
"Oh, of course, I'm sorry, Crowley." Aziraphale didn't quite know where to look or what to say. He had not expected to be thrown into Anthony’s path so suddenly. "I - you - wha-"   
"Your scarf?"   
Aziraphale looked at him, confused. "My what?"   
"Your scarf, you lost it." Crowley was still holding out the scarf.   
"Oh, yes, thank you, dear," Aziraphale said, blushing as he reached for it, digging his finger into the soft fabric.   
Crowley grinned. "So, how 've you been? How come you're here, an’ not the other side' the pond?"   
"I - I 'm - we moved back. Last - Last summer. When I started University here." God, why couldn't he form a sentence, like a normal human being, without making a mess of it?   
"An' how's your Mum?"   
Aziraphale clutched the scarf to his chest. "She's - she's doing fine now."  
"Glad to hear," said Crowley. He rubbed his neck.   
He’s just as nervous as I am, Aziraphale realized relieved. "Yes, well, thank you for the scarf."  
Crowley stared at him for a moment without moving. "Right,” he drawled, “I'll be off then."  
Aziraphale watched as Crowley turned around, sautering off, before he changed his mind. "Wait, where are you headed? Maybe we could… Walk together?" He counted the beats of his heart, waiting for Crowley’s answer, afraid of being rejected.   
Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum, went his heart, as Crowley looked over his shoulder, back at him.  
"Sure, 'm on my way to some friends. Where are you off to?"   
Relief washed through Aziraphale, only to be replaced by more nerves. "My dorm, Alton Hall" This was actually happening, he was going to walk with Crowley.  
"It's on my way."  
Together they started to walk across the almost empty Campus. Neither of them said a word, and a uncomfortable silence stretched between them. They’d used to be so good at being silent together, now it was awkward. The distant sounds of traffic, the chirping of the birds, and their steps on the pavement seemed oddly loud, as if trying to make the silence between them even more audible.   
Finally, Crowley said: "So, what are you studying? No, lemme guess, English Language and Literature?"   
"Well almost, it's Literature and History." Aziraphale kept his eyes on the path way, to prevent himself from sneaking too many glances at Crowley (or rather to not out right stare at him, drink him in with his eyes. He wanted to study every inch of Crowley, to see how he’d changed, and what parts stayed like they were in his memories).   
"Close enough." Crowley shrugged.   
"What about you?” asked Aziraphale, fingers still fidgeting with the scarf in his hands. He resisted the temptation of fixing the other’s hips with his eyes. The way Crowley swayed with every step was doing rather unhelpful things to Aziraphale’s ability to breath, talk, and walk straight at once.   
"Second year Astrophysics."  
"Blimey, it's that complicated?"  
"Sure as hell not easy."  
Aziraphale felt some of the tension ease out of his shoulders, maybe talking to Crowley wasn’t so hard after all. He felt safe to risk a glance, only to notice that Crowley was staring at him, not even trying to hide it. Aziraphale felt his face growing hot.  
“So you said you started last summer, what did you do before? I mean, you must’ve finished High School at … what, seventeen, eighteen? Now you’re twenty. So, what did you do in between? Unless, it took you even longer than me to finish school?” asked Crowley.   
“Well, yes, after High School, and after I turned eighteen, I traveled around Europe for some time, and the autumn after turning nineteen, I started University in the States, tried to do business management-”  
Crowley stared at him in disbelief. “You wot? Business management? Why on earth would you do that?”  
“I know, it was terrible, I don’t know what gotten into me, my dear.” Aziraphale stole another glance at Crowley, who was smiling despite still staring at him like he’d grown a second head. But for the first time his smile seems completely honest.  
“Anyways,” continued Aziraphale, “I came to my senses, and decided to come back, to start over here.”  
“Isn’t that why you left? To start over?” Instantly, the smile was gone from Crowley’s lips, instead his voice filled with bitterness. Somehow Aziraphale had ruined the easy mood that had begun to settle between them.   
“Anthony-”   
“It’s Crowley.” Aziraphale felt like Crowley had slammed a door into his face, closing him out before he had the change to glance inside.   
“Crowley, you know very well that I never wanted to leave.” Aziraphale stopped. He wanted to reach out, to touch the other boy, but he didn’t think he had the right to.   
“Right.” Crowley scoffed, and just continued walking.  
“I’m so sorry for what happened.”   
“Leave it, it’s whatever.” The anger in his voice, unmistakable. Anger but also hurt. How had this gone wrong so fast?   
Aziraphale hurried to catch up again. Before, Crowley had stared at Aziraphale so openly, but now he had turned his head away, and wouldn’t look in his direction. Eyes fixed ahead, Crowley sped up, walking with long strides, still somehow managing to keep his hips swinging. Aziraphale had troubles keeping up with him. “Please don’t act like that.”  
“Like wot?” Crowley snapped.  
“Like you don’t care.” Aziraphale saw that they had almost reached their destination. He had to make this right again.  
“Wot makes you think I do?”  
“I know you, my dear.”  
“Oh, yeah? How could you possibly know me after being gone for almost five years?”  
“Crowley,-”   
“Just leave it, Aziraphale.”  
Aziraphale stopped in front of the entry of Alton Hall. “Well, this is me, I won’t keep you any longer.”  
Finally, Crowley stopped and looked at Aziraphale. “‘s nice seein’ you again, Aziraphale.” And without giving Aziraphale the chance to answer, Crowley walked away. Leaving Aziraphale alone and confused with his own emotions.

You fucking idiot! Crowley chided himself, as he crossed the lawn, making his way off Campus.   
Crowley wasn’t sure what upset him most. He was angry at himself for making a detour of ten minutes, just to walk with Aziraphale (of course Alton Halls hadn’t been on his bloody way! In fact it was in the exact opposite direction, though, Aziraphale didn’t need to know that); angry at himself for getting so upset about Aziraphale leaving five years ago (why couldn’t Crowley have a nice and easy conversation with the love of his life like a normal person? It’s been five year! Get over it! Up until that point everything had been going fine) And angry at Aziraphale for leaving in the first place, and then suddenly coming back as if nothing had happened (now how was he supposed to deal with that?).   
He was still angry by the time he arrived at Bee’s. They took one look at him, and then handed him the bottle of wine that had been passed around among Hastur, Ligur, Bee and some other people Crowley had never bothered to learn the names of.   
Crowley had always been shit at dealing with his emotions. So, instead of trying to figure them out in a sound way, he got shitfaced. 

Aziraphale chose the more healthy approach to make sense of this whole mess. He went to Anathema’s, and together they cozed up on her bed. Aziraphale told her about the unexpected encounter with Crowley, at which Anathema got up again, to get ice cream from the fridge.   
They ate in silence for a bit. Until Anathema asked: “But why did you leave? I mean, five years ago? What happened?”  
So, Aziraphale finally told her the whole story. 

Age fifteen:  
Aziraphale laid curled on his bed, tears streaming down his face. Oh, he was so tired of crying. Shouldn’t he have run out of tears by now?  
The room was dark, he just couldn't bring himself to get up to lift the blinds. He wasn't even sure if outside the sky would be dark with night or lit up by the sun. Somehow, he'd lost track of time.   
His bedroom door was opened, and he knew without having to look that it was Anthony. He listened to the light footfall, and then felt the mattress dip under Anthony's weight.   
"Angel?" His voice was as soft as the finger that trailed over Aziraphale’s shoulder. The touch more hesitant than usually.  
He nodded, and lifted his blanket for Anthony to crawl under.   
Warm arms came around him, and he felt the other boy press his face into Aziraphale’s neck. The comfort was welcome, even when it couldn’t chase away the sorrow and pain in his heart.   
"Your Mum said the funeral is going to be next Monday", Anthony whispered, brushing his lips onto his shoulders.   
Aziraphale nodded again, while lacing their fingers together. He didn’t want to think about it. The sight of his dad’s coffin being lowered into the cold ground. How the lid would likely remain closed during the service, since the body would be too crushed and twisted to have anyone look at it.   
"Did she tell you anything else?" His voice sounded so strange, hoars as if he hadn't used it in years, as if someone had scrubbed it with sandpaper.   
"No."  
In the silence that followed Aziraphale closed his eyes, and leaned further into Anthony's embrace.   
He could feel tears dripping into his hair, were Anthony's face was pressed against him.   
"I miss him", his best friend breathed. "And I'm sorry. I'm sorry, angel, that you lost him."  
"I'm sorry, too. I know, he was like a father to you, too."   
Aziraphale felt like he couldn't breath. He had to tell Anthony something important but how could he hurt him like that, when he was already hurting? How could he hurt himself that way, when he, too, felt he was already bleeding.   
"Anthony… ", he mumbled.   
He couldn't do it.   
"Mhm?"   
Drip, drip went their tears.   
"I have to tell you something."  
Anthony shifted, trying to look at his face, but Aziraphale was a coward. He couldn't bring himself to look at those beloved eyes, and watch him break some more.   
"You know that my Mum has a sister, living in the States?"   
Anthony made an affirmative noise, snuggling his nose deeper into Aziraphale’s hair.   
"Mum wants us to go to her after -” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “After Dad is buried."  
"For how long? Will you be back when school starts again?"  
His heart was breaking. How could he be so cruel? How could he hurt Anthony, the person he loved most in the world, like this.   
"I'm not coming back for school, Anthony. Mum's - Mum is going to sell the house. You see, she can't stand being here without - without Dad, and she wants us to start over. She wants me to go with her, and live in the States at my aunt’s."   
Suddenly, the warmth around Aziraphale was gone, it’s loss enough to send new tears down his cheeks. As he looked over his shoulder, he could just make out Anthony's farm, as he sat up straight, looking down at Aziraphale.  
"You wot?"  
Taking a shuddering breath, Aziraphale sat up, too. "After the - after the funeral on Monday, we’ll start packing, the next Sunday we'll drive to London to - to fly to New York." He reached out a hand to touch Anthony, but the other boy flinched.   
"You're going to leave me." Anthony’s voice broke, new tears filled his eyes, too.   
Aziraphale cradled his hand to his chest as if burned. "Believe me, it's the last thing I want to do but Mum left me no choice."   
Anthony shook his head, shrinking back and further away. "No, no, no. Please, angel. Please, don't."  
Aziraphale swallowed, and closed his eyes. He didn't want to see what his next words were going to do to Anthony. His whole body hurt, and he was trembling.   
"And I - I don't think we can - Anthony, we can't be together like that. We wouldn't be able to see each other, neither of us has enough money to constantly fly back and forth. We could - we could try to call but the different time zones aren't exactly optimal for that. And I - I don't want to hold you back from - from living your life here - without me."  
Aziraphale could feel through the mattress that Anthony had started to shake, too, could hear the sobs coming from him." No, no, please, angel. Don't - don't do this, please. I can't -" He broke off.   
"I'm sorry", Aziraphale whispered again and again over Anthony's repeated "no"s.   
He couldn't stand seeing his friend like that, and he was so tired of tears. So he reached out again, and this time Anthony let Aziraphale pull him close, holding onto him in turn.   
And they both hurt.

Two Weeks Later:  
A lazy summer breeze brushed through the trees on the sidewalk. How could the world still be so warm and bright, after all that had happened. It didn’t seem right. Anthony had said goodbye to Mrs. Fell, who had cried, and apologized for not being able to take him with them. Now she was sitting behind the wheel of a rented car (Their own car had been crushed in the accident that had killed Mr. Fell), to give the boys space to say their farewells. Anthony was crying silently, tears dropping into Aziraphale's blonde curls.   
"I don't want to leave you", whispered Aziraphale, eyes closed but not wet with tears. He had stopped crying the day after he had told Anthony that he had to leave. Everyone assumed he was the emotional one of the two of them, but it was Anthony how cried to during sad movies or songs, who got angry and loud over little things, who was hurt by careless word and touched so deeply by any kindness. His whole behavior had always been more expressive than Aziraphale’s. Anthony hid it well when he was around other people, but there was no need to hide anything from his angel, his love. So he cried, while Aziraphale clutched him close. The desperate grip and quiver in Aziraphale’s voice were the only things betraying his emotions.   
"I know", Anthony managed.   
"You know, I thought, I'd spend the rest of my life with you."   
And Anthony's heart broke a little more. Every beat seemed to tear him open a bit further, and he was bleeding.   
"I wish, I - could come with you. I want to - I need to be there for you. Don't - don't leave me, please", Anthony sobbed into Aziraphale's hair.   
" I know, but you can't, I can't, we've - we've talked about it."  
They had. The last couple of days, they had spend most time clinging onto each other in Aziraphale's bed, trying to find a solution, Anthony crying in his arms. But there was nothing they could do. Aziraphale’s Dad had died. And it hurt. Mrs. Fell couldn't stand being here without him, because it hurt. So she had decided to start a new life, and move to her sister in America. And it hurt because she was taking Aziraphale with her, and leaving Anthony behind. Anthony had even asked his father if he could go with Mrs. Fell and Aziraphale, but for all his not caring for his son, Mr. Crowley had refused to let Anthony leave the country, said he wouldn’t pay for his son to run off like his mother had. Aziraphale and Anthony had decided that they couldn't keep their relationship going, with an ocean between them (or rather Aziraphale had, while Anthony had tried to convince him to give it a shot) and it hurt. They would only hold each other back, and trying to hold on to what they had could never make either of them happy. So they hurt together, bleeding all over, not knowing how else to deal with the situation.   
"Promise to let me go. You have to let me go", Aziraphale murmured into Anthony's chest. The words cutting him open even more.   
"I love you, angel. Please."   
Hearing these words hurt.  
He pressed his lips against Anthony’s one last time. He tasted of salt and tears. And it hurt with every beating of his heart.   
Letting go of Anthony and getting into the car that would take him away hurt.   
Knowing that he might not see Anthony again, his best friend, the love of his life, the person he had wanted to marry someday, since his mother had explained the concept of marriage to him, hurt more than anything Aziraphale had ever endured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> University is a lot right now, so I didn't have much time to work on this project but hey I've managed another chapter (can I hear a wahoo?). Honestly, comments are are ff write's best motivator and I#m feeling kinda low about writing rn so I'd really really appreciate if you guys let me know what you think.  
> Thanks for reading <3


	7. Hit Me Like A Ray Of Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Drug use ahead.

Crowley was lying on the floor of Bee’s room, counting the wooden boards on the ceiling. There were eighteen in total, light brown and some of them cracked. Hatur and Ligur had left an hour or so ago, and Lucifer had retreated to his own room. Only Bee was left, lying next to him. They were both very high. The smell of weed, and cigarettes hung on their clothes. Crowley’s head felt heavy and light at once, his body tingled oddly.  
“...and then I jus’ left ‘im standing there. Should have … I dun know what I should’ve done. Wot was I thinking?” Crowley felt the sudden urge to laugh, though he knew there was nothing funny about it. Why was is brain so slow and dizzy?  
“Nothin’, you dun think, you’re an idiot”, laughed Bee.  
Crowley elbowed them in the rips. Or at least tried to, as that turned out more difficult when lying on the floor.  
“No, honestly, Bee, wot should I do? I wanna....dunno wot I wanna. Hey, didn’t you say you have pizza?” Crowley stretched out his arms, and examined his fingers. He had ten. Had they always looked this weird? All long and bony. Why had he never really looked at his fingers before. They were oddly fascinating. Freckled and pale. Aziraphale had always said that he loved Crowley’s fingers.  
“Yeah, like three hours ago,” said Bee.  
Disappointed, Crowley dropped his hands on his belly. “Oh, could really do with some pizza right now.”  
Bee shrugged. “Well, Hastur ate it all.”  
“He did?”  
“You don’t remember?”  
“Not really, but as I was saying… wot was I saying?” Crowley tried to remember what he’d be talking about before his sudden craving for pizza had interrupted his train of thoughts. Something important. Damn his brain for being so foggy.  
“You were moping about that Fell guy,” prompted Bee.  
“‘m not moping. I dun do moping, me. Too cool for that.” Bee laughed, and somehow Crowley coulded help but join in. Wait, had he said something funny? He must have, otherwise why would they both be laughing so hard? Hang on, trains of thoughts lost again. What had he been on about? Right, Aziraphale.  
“Anyways, I shouldn’t have snapped at him like that. Maybe he will never talk to me again now.” That thought made him feel like someone was pressing all air from his lungs. When Aziraphale had been ripped out of his life when they were teenagers, it had thrown him into a very dark place, a place he never wished to visit again. Even though they weren’t close now, thinking about not talking to Aziraphale again, made his chest hurt and he wondered dimly, if he would survive being left again, or if there was still hope for him.  
“Satan, Crowley, you are hopeless,” groaned Bee, “Jus’ say sorry, or whatever. Why are you so hung up on that guy, anyways? You don’t do all that pining stuff, usually it’s jus’ the sex for you, innit?”  
Crowley rolled onto his side, glaring at Bee. “Hey, I do not pine! An’ also you make me sound like a slut.”  
Bee shoved him, and then shrugged.“Well, you are a bit slutty.”  
“Yeah, fine,” Crowley huffed, falling onto his back again, “ but I dun pine after Aziraphale.”  
Bee snorted. “Try telling that yourself.”  
Crowley spread his arms wide on the floor, almost hitting Bee in the face, pressing his whole body down. It felt weirdly satisfying to be grounded like that. Safe. As if as long as he lay here, he couldn’t float away. Couldn’t be lost again. He laughed. “Hell, the floor is amazing, why dun we hang out on the floor, more often?”  
“I know, right?” laughed Bee, stretching their arms out, too.  
“I’m gonna talk to ‘im,” said Crowley.  
“The floor?”  
“No, Fell.”  
“Oh, shut up, Crowley. Jus’ get it over with and quit whining.”  
“Okay, okay, I’ll go talk to him.” Crowley got up stumbling.  
Bee stared at him in disbelief. “Not now! You idiot! It’s the middle of the night.”  
Crowley considered that for a moment. Had it really gotten that late? He checked his phone; four am. “Oh, yeah, it is...maybe I should get some sleep.”  
Bee sat up, too. “You think you’ll manage to get home?”  
“You do realize that I live just up the stairs?.”  
“Wouldn’t put it past you to get lost.”  
“Shut up,” Crowley snachted his jacket off Bee’s bed, and made towards the front door. “Ciao!” He called, as he got into the hallway. Then Crowley staggered upstairs, and fell face first into his bed. 

Aziraphale and Anathema had spend their Wednesday morning having breakfast off Campus. Early April had brought warmer weather, and Aziraphale enjoyed the sun on his back, as they walked back to their dorms. The trees and bushes were coming back to life, painting everything in a lush green, daisies dotted the lawn, and birds were singing in the trees. What a lovely day.  
After the last terrible night, sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning, it was just what he needed. A couple of weeks ago, his nightmares had gotten worse, again. He could never remember what exactly he had dreamed but when he woke up, a feeling of dread and fear lingered. Whenever he would wake up in cold sweat, unable to fall asleep again, Aziraphale would take out the blue journal form his night stand, and study Crowley’s sketches. Following the lines with his fingers, remembering all the times he had watched Crowley draw. More often than not, he would turn to the very last page, to look at the picture of Crowley and himself, wishing he could go back to that moment, and spend forever wrapped up in a blanket, huddled close to Crowley. Aziraphale had considered to pin the photo on his wall but he didn’t need to be that obvious about the fact that he was a mess over Crowley.  
“So, you know Newt, right?” Anathema asked.  
“The guy who crashed his bike in front of Alton Hall? Wait, didn’t you have a date last week? Oh bugger, I meant to ask about it, but then I met Crowley, and you let me whine about him all evening! I’m so sorry, my dear, I’m a rather terrible friend.”  
Anathema linked her arm with Aziraphale’s, petting his hand.“‘s alright. After everything you told me, I get that it’s all... a bit much for you, at the moment. But anyway, Newt… so, we met again, yesterday. He came to The Hideout, just before my shift ended, and then he walked me home, we talked, I invited him in… and you know,” here she winked at him, “one thing let to the other.”  
Aziraphale gasped. “You slept with him? But you’ve only known him for about two weeks.”  
Anathema rolled her eyes. “So what? At least, I know what I’m in for,” she grinned. “Wait, do you know what you are in for? With Crowley, I mean.”  
“Anathema!” Aziraphale said, scandalized. This was really not the place to discuss such things, so out in the open for everyone to listen to them (not that Campus was particularly over flown with people, at 10 am during term break).  
“What? ‘m just curious. When you guy were together you were both fifteen, right? A lot of teenager have their first time around sixteen, or so, don’t they?” Anathema went on, smirking when she saw that Aziraphale was actually blushing.  
“Dear Lord,” he muttered, fingers worrying his sleeves.  
“You don’t have to say anything. Was just asking. But sex is something totally natural, and nothing to be ashamed of.”  
The heat was getting rather uncomfortable. “Jesus, will you stop talking, if I tell you?”  
Anathema’s grin deepened. “So there is something to tell? I knew it.”  
Aziraphale wished to be somewhere far away from that conversation. “Alright, yes, we were… intimate. Now please stop, my dear. I’d rather not discuss my… private affairs in public.” Aziraphale looked around to make sure no one was listening. Thank goodness, they were nearing Alton Hall, and maybe they could continue the conversation in privat.  
“You talk like my great aunt. But back to Newt. He was really sweet about it all, you see, I was his first, and he kept asking if I was alright. He stayed the night, and he’s taking me to this games night with his friends tomorrow. I like him a lot.”  
Aziraphale smiled. “That’s sweet, I’m happy for you. Bet he’ll do you good… after everything with Alice.”  
“Ugh, yeah, don’t remind me.” Anathema let go of his arm. Then she stopped. “Hey, ‘zira, that’s your ex-boyfriend waiting in front of our door, isn’t it?”  
Aziraphale looked up, and sure enough, there, in front of Alton Hall’s main door, was Crowley, sitting on the steps, head in his hands. Anathema looked him over. “Gee, he looks like a mess.” Even from here Crowley appeared very tired, shoulders slacking, hair unkempt.  
“Oh, dear,” said Aziraphale.  
Anathema looked from Crowley to back Aziraphale. “You gonna talk to him, or do you want me to distract him, while you take the back door?”  
Aziraphale swallowed nervously. “We have a back door?”  
His friend shrugged. “I think so.”  
For a moment, he considered giving in to the coward inside him, to leave Crowley sitting in front of the door, and find another way in. Then Aziraphale took a deep breath. “That wouldn’t be necessary, my dear. I can do this.” He started to fidget with his clothes again. Hands rearranging his bowtie, brushing down his coat. Anathema snorted. “Stop that, you look fine. Let’s go.” She strid purposefully over to Crowley, Aziraphale hurried to keep up.  
When they had reached the other boy, Anathema said. “Crowley, I presume. I’m Anathema Device, don’t believe we’ve met yet.”  
Crowley looked up, startled. His eyes were hidden behind dark glasses ,and his hair fell loose around his face. When he saw Anathema, he frowned. When he saw Aziraphale, he scrambled to his feet. “Mhm, yeah, Hi.” He leaned his long body against the banister of the stairs, hips cocked. Trying very hard to look nonchalant.  
“Crowley,” muttered Aziraphale, not really knowing what to say, especially with Anathema listening.  
Luckily, she seemed to guess his dilemma. She smiled sweetly, and said: “Well, I’ll be off. See you later, Aziraphale.” Crowley and Aziraphale watched Anathema vanish behind the doors of Alton Hall. Both of them were happy for the excuse to not look at the other. Silence followed. Crowley shoved his hands in his pocket, and opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Twice more he made that movement, before producing a very articulate “Ngk.”  
Aziraphale, again, took a deep breath, and broke the silence. “Why don’t we walk for a bit?”  
“Walk, yeah, good idea.” Crowley brushed his hair from his face, and Aziraphale noticed a small snake, tattooed below his temple.  
As Crowley sauntered next to Aziraphale, he began to talk: “I wanted to apologize, I guess. Shouldn’t have snapped at you the other day. ‘s not wot I had in mind, when I imagined talking to you again.”  
“I forgive you. Suppose it’s just as… weird for you, as it is for me,” Aziraphale said.  
“Yeah, weird is one way of putting it.”  
Aziraphale spotted a bench, not far off, and walked towards it. “Confusing maybe?” he suggested.  
Crowley snorted. “That it is, definitely.” A lazy breeze rustled through the trees, as they sat down on the bench next to each other. Aziraphale with his hands folded in his lap, Crowley with all his limbs sprawled out.  
“Do you live on Campus?” Aziraphale inquired, not wanting to give silence the chance to spread between them.  
“Nah, I live in town. Sharing a flat with two idiots.”  
“Ah, no wonder I never saw you on Campus.”  
Crowley smirked. “Been looking for me, angel?”  
Aziraphale stared at him, lips slightly parted.  
When he made no sound to answer, Crowley turned his head to look at him “Wot?”he asked.  
“‘Angel’?” Aziraphale’s voice felt strange, as he repeated the old nickname, the one Crowley had used from the very beginning, back when they had been barely five years old. No one but Crowley had ever called him that, and after five years apart, he hadn’t expected to hear it again.  
Crowley shrugged. “Sorry, old habits die hard, I guess.”  
Aziraphale looked down on his hands, not knowing whether he liked Crowley’s answer, or not. What had he hoped? For Crowley to confess that he still loved him? That everything was forgiven and forgotten, now that they had found each other again. Aziraphale swallowed. It wouldn’t be as easy as that. “To answer your question, my dear, yes, I did, in fact, look for you. Tried to find you after the party. Terribly sorry about the beer, by the way.”  
“‘s alright, where’s the fun in a party if you don’t end up smelling like beer.”  
When he dared to look up again, Aziraphale found Crowley smiling softly at him. And that little smile was enough to send butterflies going crazy in his stomach. He allowed his eyes to travel over Crowley’s face, taking in the fine lines of his nose, the curve of his brow, his freckles, and again he noticed the tattoo.  
“When did you get that?” he asked, gesturing to the ink. Crowley lifted a hand, and traced the little snake.  
“To be honest, I was a bit drunk, when I got it. Last year after the finals of summer term, I hung out with friends, we all got drunk pretty fast, and Luce was really into tattooing back then, so he got his own machine, and asked for volunteers. You know, he’s a really good artist, and that night I thought why the fuck not.“  
Aziraphale couldn’t help the look of disapproval that stole onto his face.  
“It’s not too bad, I don’t even regret it as much as everyone told me I would.” Crowley shrugged again.  
Aziraphale chose his next word carefully, not knowing how Crowley would react. “You used to be a good artist, too. I expected you to study art, or design, or something similar.” At that, Crowley looked away, and Aziraphale knew that that had been the wrong thing to say.  
“Nah, haven’t picked up a pencil in a long time. Not since… you know.”  
“I’m sorry, Anthony - Crowley, I mean,” Aziraphale said quietly.  
“Yeah, me too.”  
Suddenly, music started to play somewhere in Crowley's pocket. “She keeps Moët et Chandon in her pretty cabinet.” Crowley cursed, and fished out his phone. (How he had managed to squeeze it into the pocket of jeans as tight as his, Aziraphale had no idea.)  
“Wot you want, Ligur?” he drawled.  
“Where the hell ‘re you, you bastard. Said you won’t be long.” Aziraphale could hear the voice on the other end of the line say.  
“Shit, yeah, ‘m on my way,” groaned Crowley, and hung up. “Sorry, Aziraphale, gotta go.”  
Aziraphale tried to ignore the surge of disappointment that rushed through his veins. Afterall, what claim had he on Crowley’s time? “It’s alright, dear. I wouldn’t want to keep you.”  
When he got up, Crowley hesitated, hand reaching up to scrub his neck. “You wanna grab lunch some time… with me? Or dinner? My treat. To make up for being an arse the other day.”  
Aziraphale couldn’t help beaming at him. “Oh, Crowley! That would be quite lovely, my dear. How about Friday evening? I know this amazing Italian place.”  
The corners of Crowley’s mouth pulled down slightly. “I can’t. Friday, I mean, told the others I’d go to that ‘Campus Crown’ party with ‘em.”  
“Oh,” Aziraphale’s face fell, disappointed all over again.  
“You should come,” said Crowley quickly, ” if you wanna.”  
“Best not.” Aziraphale fingered at the hem of his jacket. “I’m not sure, if parties are exactly my scene. Might only spill some more beer down your shirt.”  
Crowley chuckled. “C’mon, it’s not that bad. If you come, I’ll take you to lunch on Monday, we can have Crêpes.”  
Aziraphale feigned a horrified gasp.“Oh, you wily serpent. How unfair, tempting me with Crêpes!”  
Crowley started to walk backwards. He already knew, he had won.“Well, is the temptation working?”  
Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. “I’ll give it some consideration.”  
The other boy grinned. “I’ll see you Friday, angel.” Not giving Aziraphale the chance for further objections, he strolled down the sunny path, soon vanishing around a corner.  
Aziraphale remained on the bench for a while. Heart thundering, and a stupid smile on his lips. 

Age sixteen:  
The first week after Aziraphale left, Anthony didn't get out of bed, for more than the short daily trip to the bathroom and the kitchen. He barely ate anything, just enough to not starve. He didn't sleep much either, he just lay on the thin mattress in his tiny, shitty room, and stared at the ceiling. Wondering how in such short time his whole life had been turned upside down. He’d never felt so alone.  
When school started again, he didn't even bother to show up. Just left the house for a bit so that his father wouldn't ask questions (not that his father really took any notice of him, anyways). When he turned sixteen he stole whiskey from his father, who had passed out on the worn-out sofa. The liquid burned down his throat and Anthony choked and coughed but he kept drinking anyways. The next morning his head hurt like hell.  
One night, after stealing some more of his father's alcohol, Anthony found himself sitting on a park bench next to a dirty, run-down playground, that hadn't been used by any children in about twenty years. Teenagers and young adults often came here to get pissed or high. He held the half empty bottle in a loose grip, head thrown back, looking up at the sky. He had found out that looking up sometimes helped fighting the tears. Breathing slow. In through the nose, hold it, and out through the mouth. Repeat. Just keep breathing. He’s gone. He gone. He’s gone. The words echoed in his head, seemed to sound through the night. He’s gone. And he won’t come back.  
"Oi, dickhead. That's our bench!"  
Anthony looked up and saw three teenagers in front of him. They were vaguely familiar to him, he had seen them in his neighborhood and sometimes at school but never bothered to talk to them. Why would he as long as he'd had Aziraphale with him? The two of them had never really made friends with anyone at school, hadn’t needed to.  
"Aren't you Crowley's little boy?"  
The boy who'd said that couldn't be more than a year older than himself and Anthony was sure that if he stood up, he'd be taller than all of them. And yet he couldn't find it in him to do more than shrug.  
"Got some weed?" the tallest asked, after eyeing him for a few seconds.  
Anthony frowned. "Wot?"  
"What's with your eyes? There all red and stuff. Got some more weed?"  
Anthony shrugged again, not wanting to explain that his eyes weren't red because he'd been smoking, but because he'd been crying all day and night. Instead he held up his father's whiskey. "But I've got this if you wanna."  
This was how he started to hang out with Adam, Eve and Bee. They didn't talk much and they all kept calling him by his last name. Mostly, they met next to the dirty playground at night, passing alcohol and cigarettes between them. It wasn't long before the others convinced Crowley to try weed.  
Half a year later, winter finally turned to spring. Eve threw a party for her seventeenth birthday, inviting as it seemed every adolescent within twenty miles . Somehow, Crowley ended up making out with some blonde guy, whose name he forgot after ten seconds. He was older than Crowley, not by much, but enough so that Crowley didn’t think he’d seen him around school in the last couple of years.  
The party was still full underway, when the guy beckoned Crowley to follow him upstairs, which he did. Letting himself be dragged to the bathroom by a sweaty hand. He’d been drunk even before the party had stared. The blonde guy closed the door behind them and before Crowley had time to say anything, the other boy pressed his lips sloppily against Crowley's mouth. For a split second, Crowley recoiled, wondering what Aziraphale would think of him if he knew he was making out with a stranger, drunk in a bathroom.  
But he’s gone, a voice in his head whispered, and he’ll never come back.  
That thought was enough to make Crowley digg his fingers in the other boy’s shirt, and kiss him hard. Eyes screwed shut tightly, trying not to think.  
The way the other boy pressed Crowley roughly against the closed bathroom door hurt. He was brutal almost and smelled of beer. Crowley didn’t like kissing the boy. It wasn't nice. Wasn’t anything like kissing Aziraphale. But at least it distracted Crowley from his thoughts and his brain kept quiet for once. Later, they both lay on the bathroom floor and when the other boy pulled a bag of white powder from his pocket and asked he he wanted some, too, Crowley didn't even asked what it was. He just mimicked the way the boy snorted it through his nose.  
Crowley couldn't remember much of what happened next. When he woke up he was laying next to the bed in Bee's room, only half dressed and with no memories of how he’d ended up there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you to everyone who reads this and left kudos! <3  
> Comments are highly appreciated, I wanna know what you guys think.  
> Shout out to @Graveyardlilies, thanks for making me think about writing flasbacks of their lives apart, I honestly hadn't thought about it, but after trying it out I realized I really like the idea!


	8. Remember Those Walls I Built?

The building in front of Aziraphale looked surprisingly plain and unsuspicious, but clearly he was in the right place. A queue of students were standing in front of the door, waiting to be let in. He even recognized a few faces. Not that he actually knew any of them, outside of having shared sitting through the same courses. The blinking board over the door read: “Campus Crown Party - Free entry for students”  
Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale joined the queue.   
You’re alright. It’s going to be alright. Like a mantra he repeated the words over and over in his head.   
At home it had taken him almost an hour, to decide what to wear. Not that his closet offered too many options. This is a terrible idea! he thought, maybe I should just head home. But Crowley had said he’d be here, and Aziraphale wanted to make some effort, after Crowley had come to apologize for snapping at him, and then promised to take him out for lunch on Monday. Afterall, who was he to say no to Crêpes!   
Everyone around him was chatting with their friends, and, for a moment, Aziraphale regretted not asking Anathema to join him. The reason why he’d decided against that was that he knew, she’d spend the entire night observing Crowley and him, how they acted around each other, how they talked to each other. No, thank you, Aziraphale could do very well without that. It’d be enough to have her needle him about it tomorrow.   
If only he wasn’t so nervous.   
The doorman checked his student ID, and ushered him inside. Loud music, swaty heat and the smell of alcohol hit him. It was remarkable how little noise had been heard on the streets, when inside the sound was deafening. The room was kept semi darkness, while blue and red lights flashed in time with the music. It was crowded, on the dance floor people moved and spun around, at the bar everyone was trying to get to the front of the line. Some people stood in corners, or sat at the tables along the wall, trying to shout over the beat to talk to their friends.  
This is a terrible idea.   
Aziraphale scanned the crowd, looking for familiar red hair, and sunglasses. Unfortunately, he could barely make out the faces of those next to him, let alone find one specific person in the sea of people. He kept close to the edge of the dance floor, and inched further into the room.   
“You actually made it!” a voice called into his ear, and he flinched a little.   
Grinning, Crowley stepped around him, holding a drink in his hand. He wore dark pants so tight, Aziraphale wondered how he managed to get them on. His shirt was red and hung loose on his thin shoulders, cropped short to show off his stomach. Aziraphale couldn’t help his eye lingering on Crowley’s skin. A thin line of red hair traveled from his belly button and disappeared in his jeans. Aziraphale didn’t remember that from five years ago.  
Heat spread through Aziraphale, colouring his cheeks a dark shade. As if he hadn’t seen Crowley nacked before. Then again, that had been some time ago.  
As he looked up at Crowley’s face, he saw a smirk spreading across his lips. Oh, that foul fiend!  
“Enjoying the view, angel?” Crowley shouted over the music (if one wanted to call it that noise music).   
“Oh, you!”  
Crowley’s smile deepend as he took in Aziraphale. “Only you would wear a bowtie to a party like that. Wanna have a drink?”  
“Yes, please!” If he was going to survive the night, he definitely needed one.  
“‘ll be right back.” With that Crowley vanished into the crowd. Aziraphale tried to use the time Crowley was gone, to steer his thoughts away from Crowley’s bare belly. Tried, and failed miserably, because suddenly his mind was occupied with memories of trailing his fingers over every part of Crowley’s body. Rather unhelpful that.   
Aziraphale felt someone tap him on the shoulder, and turned around.   
“Hey there, you’re here alone?” In front of him was a guy, a little taller than him, handsome in the roman statute kinda way; perfectly cut features, broad chest and smooth skin. He also appeared to be pretty drunk, barely managing to keep up straight.  
“Waiting for a friend,” said Aziraphale, taking a step back to bring some distance between them.   
“Wan’ me to keep you ‘nertained?” The other boy grinned lazily, and waggled his eyebrows.   
“No thanks, dear, I’m good.”   
The boy took a step towards Aziraphale.“C’mon have a lil fun!”  
“No, I’m quite good on my own, thank you very much,” said Aziraphale more firmly.  
The boy reached out to grab his arm. Then suddenly, he was yanked back.  
“Whatcha think your doing?” Crowley snarled.  
“Wow, nothin’ mate, jus’ asking him if he wanna hang.”  
Anger seemed to radiate off Crowley. “And he said no, so piss off!”  
“A’ right, ‘m goin.’” And he backed away, hands hold up in defeat.   
Crowley was still glaring at the drunk boy, as he handed Aziraphale a drink. “Bastard”, Crowley muttered. Then he turned his attention back to Aziraphale.   
"You good?" asked Crowley.   
Nodding, Aziraphale took a few sips from his drink, the alcohol burning down his throat.   
“Crowley, I’ve been wondering… why do you always wear the sunglasses? We’re inside and one can hardly see in here. Why do you wear them?” Another sip, just to have something to do.   
Crowley’s gaze drifted away from Aziraphale’s face, scanning the crowd instead. Then he, too, took a deep drag from his drink without answering. Probably not the place to have conversations like that, Aziraphale realized. When he thought, Crowley was going to ignore his question altogether, he just barely heard him say: “Let’s not talk about that now, Aziraphale.” Then after taking another sip: “Come on, let’s dance!”  
Aziraphale stared at him. “Crowley, no. I don’t dance.”  
“Sure you do, ‘member how your dad taught us to foxtrot in your living room?” Crowley bumped his bottle into Aziraphale’s. “C’mon, bottoms up!” Aziraphale made a face. Yet when Crowley drained down his drink, he followed suit.   
Crowley placed both their empty bottles on a table next to them, then took Aziaphale’s hand, and dragged him to the dance floor. Pushing through the mass of bodies, til they found a relatively empty spot.  
“Aren’t you here with your friends?” Aziraphale tried.   
Crowley smirked. “They won’t miss me.”  
Oh dear, this is not going to end well.   
Aziraphale had no idea, how he was supposed to move to the fast beat of the music, but that didn’t matter. Crowley took his other hand, too, and started spinning Aziraphale around until everything was dizzy.   
After a few twirls Crowley stopped.“Show ‘em how it’s done, angel. Let’s do it.”  
Aziraphale blinked at him for a moment, until it dawned on him what the other boy meant. “Crowley, no, we can’t foxtrot to that music.”   
“Course we can.” He placed on of his hands on Aziraphale’s back, his other lifting both their hands to shoulder height. “Your hand on my shoulder, angel. I lead.”   
Aziraphale tried to protest again: “Don’t be ridiculous, I haven’t done this in years. People will stare.”  
“C’mon, angel. No one here can actually dance. Jus’ look at ‘em”   
So they danced, and Aziraphale felt ridiculous and clumsy. Yet, he couldn’t help smiling. He remembered more clearly than ever, what it had felt like to be with Crowley. Like the world didn’t matter because they were on their own side, like together they could do anything. 

Later, they walked to Crowley’s place. It was closer, and after having a few more drinks (okay a lot more) Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he could walk all the way home just yet.   
"... my point is… my point is… the point I'm trying to make," Crowley slurred, "is the dolphins. That's my point."  
"Kind of fish," said Aziraphale, his arm around Crowley's shoulder, as they made their way through the dark deserted streets at three in the morning. (It was hard to say who was supporting who, as likely neither of them would have managed walking on their own.)  
"Nonono." Crowley, shook his head."'S mammal. Your actual mammal."   
Aziraphale stared at Crowley, his brain trying to catch up with the conversation.   
"Shit, forgotten wot 'm on 'bout," mumbled Crowley.   
Aziraphale giggled, even though he couldn't tell why. "Should do this more…more often. I like dancin' with you, bu' you can't tell tha' Crowley."   
Crowley looked at him very solemnly. "Promise, I won't tell 'im. Have my word."   
And then they both started to laugh.  
Somehow, the two of them managed to make it back to Crowley's flat in one piece, and without any major detours.   
"Shh, we gotta… gotta be… quiet. Dun wanna wake up the others", whispered Crowley in the hallway. "You go to ma room, an' I get us some… water." He steered Aziraphale towards one of the doors, before stumbling into the kitchen. There Crowley grabbed two bottles of water, and headed back. When he got to his room he saw that Aziraphale was staring at his plants.   
"Crowley, they're baute-beaut… pretty," Aziraphale whispered in awe.  
"Dun tell 'em that,” Crowley hissed,” no' good for their ego."  
And Aziraphale giggled again.   
"Think we need some fresh air. Here drink that." Crowley staggered past Aziraphale, shoving one of the bottles into his hand, and opened the window. Aziraphale drank, while he watched as Crowley tried to climb onto the window sill (it took him three attempts and Aziraphale bit his lip to stop from laughing).   
When Crowley had managed to sit down on the sill, Aziraphale took the chair next to the desk. “‘m way too drunk,” Aziraphale mumbled, resting his head on his arms, which he had crossed onto the desk. He vaguely registred how much bigger Crowley’s room was than his own small dorm. However, except for the plants the room was bare of any decoration. Everything was plain and sleek. Crowley’s bed was double the size of Aziraphale’s, and the bedsheets of a dark silky fabric. So very unlike Aziraphale’s knitted and homey beddings. All that Aziraphale only noticed marginally because his attention was focused on Crowley.   
Crowley with his head rested against the window frame eyes closed, one leg dangling outside, the other tugged to his chest. He looked beautiful, Aziraphale thought, half in dark and half basket in the light of the moon and the street post. At some point (Aziraphale couldn’t remember when exactly) Crowley had taken off his sunglasses. Aziraphale wondered at how used he’d gotten to them in such a short time. Without the glasses Crowley’s face looked open, and vulnerable. Even though, Aziraphale had known this face his whole life, he felt like he was looking at Crowley for the first time. His chest did that weird thing, feeling as if it was being squeezed together. It wasn’t painful, exactly, but neither entirely pleasant. That thing made it hard to breath.   
Suddenly, Crowley opened his eyes and caught Aziraphale staring. Hastily, he looked away.   
"I should go," Aziraphale said and it sounded like a question. He didn't know what he was asking, though.   
"Yeah, right, probably." Crowley looked away, too.   
"I should go," repeated Aziraphale, yet not moving from where he was sitting at the desk, next to the open window.   
"Yeah, right. 's gettin’ late, angel."  
If he would reach out, he could touch Crowley. Caress his thigh, let his finger wander upwards. Oh, how he longed to drag his fingers all over Crowley's legs, his belly and chest, his back, his neck and his face. Those lips were a bit fuller than he remembered them to be and Aziraphale wondered if it would feel different kissing him know. They used to be so comfortable touching each other, but now Aziraphale found himself to be frozen in place.   
Crowley looked at him then. Abandoning whatever he'd been studying outside, fixing Aziraphale with his soft familiar eyes.   
"If you'd - you know, you could stay… If you'd wanna. 's late an’ might as well sleep here, not sure if you’d find the way home bein’ drunk ‘n’ all." Crowley kept his face carefully blank, but Aziraphale knew how nervous he was. He saw how Crowley curled and curled his toes, twitched his fingers.   
"Yes", he breathed, "if that's alright with you."  
" 'course it is, angel."   
They didn't talk much, as they got ready for bed. Mostly because both their brains were still clouded with alcohol. Crowley went to the bathroom after Aziraphale, passing him an old shirt of his to sleep in. Quickly ,Aziraphale changed, and then buried himself in Crowley's pillows and blanket, the fabric was cool and silky. When Crowley came back, he took another blanket from his closet, beginning to spread it out on the floor next to the bed.   
"What’re you doin’?" Aziraphale asked.   
"Dunno, sleepin' on‘e floor?"   
Aziraphale sat up, holding the blanket open. "Dun be ridiculous. How often ‘ve we slept together in one bed? I dun see how it's going to any different now."  
But it was different, they both knew it. So very different. They hadn't seen each other for so long. And now they didn't even know if they were back to being friends.   
Slowly, Crowley slipped between the sheets, leaving enough space between them so as to not touching Aziraphale. "'night, ‘ziraphale."  
"G’night, Anthony."  
Silence filled the room but in his chest Aziraphale’s heart was beating loud, as if trying to make up for the quiet. Dimly, he wondered if Crowley was able to hear it, and he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep anytime soon, having Crowley close enough to touch. His skin prickled. Fingers arched to reach out.   
It seemed like the other boy was equally unable to find any rest. At first, he laid very still but as the seconds dragged into minutes he started tossing and turning. Years ago had always been easy for Crowley to fall asleep. He slept soundly for hours while Aziraphale remained awake. Not tonight, though.   
"You still awake, angel?" Crowley asked eventually.   
"Yeah," Aziraphale whispered back.   
"I can't sleep."   
Aziraphale turned onto his side to find Crowley looking at him, his gaze intense even in the dim light.   
"Me neither", he breathed.   
They just looked at each other. As they had longed to do but hadn't dared since meeting at that first party: not just sneaking glances when the other wasn't looking but seeing and being seen, open and honest.   
Crowley bit his lips, trying to hold in the words that wanted to escape him. The words that thundered in his heart. The words that had always been there. The words that had died down to a whisper when Aziraphale had left him. A whisper so quiet Crowley had sometimes been unable to hear. But now the word were loud again. Demanding to be spoken. Demanding to be set free.   
Crowley swallowed them.  
When Aziraphale reached out and places his palm on his cheek, Crowley forget how to speak, anyways.   
"Is that alright?"   
Crowley barely managed to nod. And Aziraphale began tracing his fingers across Crowley’s face, brushing his cheekbones, following the line of his lower lip. Aziraphale’s eyes were dark, as they lingered on his lips. Crowley held still, hardly daring to breathe. His heart was beating, drumming, racing behind his ribs as if trying to escape, and fly to Aziraphale. He wondered his his heart would bruise the insides of his chest.   
"I missed you so much, angel." His voice nothing more than a breath.   
Aziraphale swallowed, and murmured: "I missed you, too. Every day. It hurt so much not to be with you."  
Something inside Aziraphale broke open, and he found himself reaching for Crowley, at the same time that Crowley opened his arms for him.   
Aziraphale pressed his face into the crook of Crowley's neck, like the used to do when they were teenagers. It felt like coming home, more than coming back to England had. It felt like coming home, finally after so many years wandering lost. It felt like coming home, as if the pieces he was made of slid back into place, at last.   
And so they fell asleep, breathing each other in, holding close, never wanting to let go. 

Light was falling on his face but the angle was all wrong. Aziraphale blinked in confusion. His arm was wrapped around something firm and warm, his face pressed into something red and silky. Overall, he felt rather comfortable. When was the last time he had slept this good, and without a single nightmare? Aziraphale sighed content, closed his eyes again, and snuggled closer, dimly wondering where he was, and how he'd gotten here.   
Then it hit him. This was Crowley's bedroom. Last night, rather than going home after they had both gotten royally drunk, he had stayed over. And this was Crowley in his arms. Aziraphale was pressing his face into Crowley's hair and neck, arm slung over his middle, their fingers entwined. Oh, bugger. This was not supposed to happen, this could not be happening right now. He had to get as far away as possible, before the other would wake up. At least his head was pounding only a little bit, a mild hangover, considering how many drinks they’d had.  
Hardly daring to breath, he lifted his arm, oh, so slowly from Crowley’s belly, before he rolled onto his back inch by inch. There he waited a moment and, sneaking a glance at Crowley, checked whether he was still asleep.   
The morning sun painted to whole room in warm colours, and Crowley looked incredibly soft in that light. His face was open and relaxed in a way Aziraphale hadn't seen in a long time. Since before everything had gone down hills. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe, and he wanted nothing more than to roll over again, wrap his arm around the other boy's thin frame, and breathe in his scent.   
After a few deep breaths, Aziraphale found the strength to move on, and get out of the bed. He found his trousers, his knit jumper, his shirt and bowtie carefully folded over the desk chair. He made sure that Crowley was sleeping, once more, before putting on his clothes. The shirt he’d slept in went (folded) onto the desk.  
Aziraphale already regretted leaving, but he didn't know what else to do. Yesterday had been a foolish slip up, it could not happen again. Not after what had happened, what Aziraphale’s choices had done to both of them. Honestly, he wasn't sure if they were even friends at the moment. Where could all this lead to, anyways? They were bound to more heartache, if they continued like that. It seemed to him that this was all they were good at; hurting each other.   
With a sigh and on final look at Crowley, he picked up his shoes, and tiptoed to the door.   
As he made his way through the hall, after quietly closing the door, another door opened revealing one of Crowley's friends. The boy looked oddly colorless, with pale hair and skin, wearing grey pyjamas. Startled Aziraphale stopped dead, like a deer caught in the headlights.   
"What's got you looking all guilty? Sneaking out, are we?", the boy said. (Maybe it was the one who’d called Crowley the other day. Something starting with an L.)  
"I am not sneaking", Aziraphale said with as much dignity as he could manage. Yet he was betrayed by his eyes darting back at Crowley's closed door. The boy scoffed (Ligur! That was the name.)   
"Sure", grinned the boy ,who was possibly that Ligur guy, "Whatever you say."   
Aziraphale bit his lips and waited, unsure what to do. The other seemed to fix him with his smirk. "Well, then I - I got to get - right, ahm, bye", Aziraphale stuttered.   
"You're Fell right?" The boy leaned against the frame of his door, seemingly highly amused by the way Aziraphale squirmed.   
"I am." He hugged his shoes to his chest, hoping they could somehow protect him from that unyielding eyes. "Anyway, I really should be off, so if you'd excuse me, I must get going."  
Aziraphale reached for the door handle, and quietly said: "Tell him I'm sorry." before walking out. 

Age seventeen:  
“Aziraphale, dinner is ready!” His mother’s voice seemed oddly muffled. Like he was underwater. It didn’t quite reach his ears. The only thing he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the rush of his blood, as he sat on his bed in the darkness. The sun had sunken behind the horizon about an hour ago but it was still warm. Strange, really. It shouldn’t be this warm in November.  
“Honey, are you coming?” This time the voice was accompanied by the sound of steps on the stairs.   
Why wasn’t it cold? Why wasn’t it raining? In England it had always rained that day.   
I bet it’s raining… where he is.  
There was a knock on the door. “Aziraphale?” Still muffled. Still underwater. Was he drowning?   
“Sweetie, are you alright.”  
Only when his Mum touched his shoulder did he realize that she stood right in front of him. Aziraphale looked up from the little cake, which he clutched in his hands. Squashed without him noticing.   
“It’s his birthday,” he whispered, eyes unfocused. “Today.”  
He couldn’t bare the pity in his mother’s gaze, as she sat down next to him with a heavy sigh. “I know.”   
Aziraphale looked down to his hands again. “I got cake,” was all he could manage. Even his own voice was hushed.  
“So I see,” said his Mum, brushing a stray lock from his forehead. So careful, as if she was afraid to break him.   
Aziraphale took a shuddering breath, and then said, very fast: “Silly, really. He never liked cake, anyways. We only got cake for his birthday because he knew that I loved it.”  
“Oh, honey…” Her eyes were so unbearably soft. So soft and he couldn’t take it. He didn’t deserve her pity. Not when he’d been so cruel to Anthony. He should have listened to him. They could have make it work.  
“I can’t… I…” Suddenly it was hard to breathe. His lungs seemed to refuse to work. Aziraphale choked. “I… should be with him. I was meant to be with him.”  
Gentle hands took the little cake away, and then his mother’s arms surrounded him. Her familiar scent filled his nose. Suppressing a dry sob, Aziraphale pressed his face into her neck, holding onto her for dear life. He was drowning, wasn’t he?   
“It’s his birthday and… what if he’s all alone over there?”  
Her arms tightened around him, and tears ran from her cheeks into Aziraphale’s hair. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”  
All at once, Aziraphale pushed her away and sat up. “Why… why did you have to make me leave him? Why did we have to come here?”  
His Mum straightened, too, but she didn’t look at him. “You know why, Aziraphale. I … I can’t be there without your Dad. Not now. Not yet.”  
“Can’t we go back? It’s been over a year now.”   
“Aziraphale-” Her voice broke, as new tears started to run down her face.   
“Maybe it’s not too late. Maybe he’ll forgive me! Mum, please!” He was pleading now. So desperate to make his Mum see, to make her understand.   
“No, Aziraphale, listen. I can’t go back. I just can’t. Not now. Maybe in a few years. We can talk about it again-”  
“Years? Mum, please. I can’t…”  
She reached for him, but Aziraphale flinched. “This is your fault. It’s all your fault. Mum, please, I have to go back. Without him I can’t...”   
“Aziraphale, stop. Of course you can. You are so strong. You’ve made it so far, I know you can go on.”  
Aziraphale turned away from her and curled himself into a tiny ball, face pressed into one of his pillows. “I hate it here! I want to go back.”  
“I’m sorry, honey.” His mum brushed the tears from her face, as she got up. “Why don’t you come downstairs? Aren’t you hungry? Dinner is ready.” Time dragged on and Aziraphale only reaction was silence. So his mum left, closing the door behind her.  
Aziraphale didn’t move for the rest of the night.  
It was still too warm for November, and the little cake sat squashed and abandoned on his nightstand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all are safe and healthy.  
> Thanks for reading! <3  
> Please tell me what you think, I'd really appreciate it if you left any comments.


	9. New Ways To Fall Apart

When Crowley woke up he found the other side of the bed cold and empty. So cold, in fact, that Aziraphale had likely been gone for some time now. That thought hurt, so Crowley shoved away, very firmly, to the back of his mind.   
Still a little groggy, and his head hurting like hell, he got up, and made his way to the kitchen in only an old shirt and boxers. What he needed now was coffee. Quite extraordinary amounts of coffee. Before he could pugh the kitchen door open, he heard someone cluttering about with the kettle. His heart did that stupid thing where it sped up and stumbled. Why did his bloody heart have to be so stupidly hopeful and stubborn? When would it finally learn its lesson.   
"Aziraphale?" he called out, stepping into the room.   
"Nope, jus' me. Want some coffee?", Hastur said from where he stood at the counter.   
"Oh, right. Yeah, coffee, thanks", he mumbled. Trying to ignore the disappointment seeping through his veins (served him right for getting his hopes up).   
"Well then you gotta make your own, 's not enough for another cup." Hastur took a deliberate sip from his mug.  
Bastard, thought Crowley.  
As he set about making coffee, his body seemed to move on muscle memory only, while his mind strayed to a certain blonde, soft angel. Stupid, he was so stupid for letting yesterday happen. But it had felt so good to fall asleep in his arms again. He wished he could fall asleep like that every night. And when he'd wake up Aziraphale would still be there, eat breakfast with him, spend his day with him like they had as teenagers.   
"... Crowley? You listening?" he heard Hastur's voice reach him from far away.   
"Wot? Mhm, yeah, 'm listing." He hadn't even notice that he had sat down on the kitchen table, steaming cup of coffee in his hands.   
"Bullshit. You were like miles away." Hastur frowned.   
"Whatever." Crowley took a sip, trying to concentrate on how the hot liquid burned his tongue and down his throat. He found the pain stoothing in a weird way.  
"He said to tell you he's sorry", Hastur said, sitting down opposite of Crowley.   
Crowley's eyes snapped up to Hastur's face. "Wot?"   
Hastur had a very odd look on his face, as he studied his friend. "Fell. He left about an hour ago, and told me:'Tell him I'm sorry'. I didn't know you'd planned on having someone stay the night."  
"Wasn't planned," Crowley mumbled, letting his face sink to the table, resting his forehead on the wood. "It just happened, alright."  
"Crowley…"Why the hell was Hastur’s voice so bloody soft? It was so unlike him. His friend wasn't supposed to sound like that. He was supposed to snap and snarl, not to care.   
"Wot?" Crowley repeat, and refused to look up. He didn't think he could take the pitying look on Ligur's face, right now.   
"That guy's gonna break your heart."   
Crowley shut his eyes, trying shut out the world around him. All he wanted to do was go back to sleep, hide in his bed, since apparently he couldn't deal with reality.   
"I know", Crowley mumbled. 

On that afternoon, Aziraphale went to the library. Term break wasn’t over yet, so technically he had nothing he needed to work on, but he always found the atmosphere rather calming. The peaceful silence. Like the world was muffled. He needed that now. Cramped up in his room, his thoughts had driven him crazy. Guilt gnawed at Aziraphale, for sneaking out on Crowley. Twice he had gotten up to walk back to Crowley, and explain everything, until he remembered that he didn’t know what he would say. What could he say?  
Aziraphale wanted it to work, wanted to be with Crowley again. But there was this fear inside him, eating him up. Fear of letting his guard down for Crowley, only to be hurt again. Though, rationally, Aziraphale knew that neither him, nor Crowley were to blame for the pain, five years ago. It wasn't Crowley who had hurt him (if anything Aziraphale had been the one to hurt Crowley). What if they were too different now? Five years changed people, right? And anyways, they weren't even friends, were they?   
And yet, for all his doubts, Aziraphale simply could not ignore, how he had felt sleeping with his arms around Crowley, being held by Crowley in return. Rarely did he sleep through the night without waking up, at least once. Or without any nightmares. With Crowley, however, bodies pressed together, fingers entwined, sleep had been peaceful, and Aziraphale had felt safe. And at home.  
So as to escape his thoughts, he spent the next three hours buried in books, tugged into the corner of the second floor. Inside his little bubble, were the world couldn’t reach him. In the following semester he was going to take an advanced course on medieval literature. Couldn’t hurt to do some researches on that topic, to refresh his memories of the introductory lecture. Aziraphale had read the Canterbury Tales in modern English some years ago, so he tried his luck with a copy of the original version. At first it was difficult to make sense of the late middle English but with a dictionary at hand, Aziraphale managed.   
Aziraphale was so immersed in this task, that he didn't notice when someone sat down on the opposite side of the table. He simply continued reading the fifth of twenty four stories, eyes fixed on the words.   
"Thought, I might find you here," a voice said but Aziraphale didn't look up, didn’t even fully registre that he was spoken to.   
"Earth to Aziraphale?"  
Aziraphale scribbled down a note.  
“You gone deaf, angel?”   
At the familiar pet name, Aziraphale finally realized that he wasn't alone anymore, and lifted his head. His heart stumbled at the sight of Crowley grinning at him. All flashing charm and black clothing. "Oh, Crowley, what - what are you doing here?" Aziraphale asked, trying to not feel like a deer caught in the headlights. Just breathe Aziraphale.  
Crowley leaned forward, elbows on the table, resting his head in his hand. "I was looking for you."   
Aziraphale clasped his hands together. "Well, you found me. Can I help you with anything, dear? I’m afraid I’m quite busy, at the moment,” he kept his voice as neutral as possible.  
Even though Crowley was wearing sunglasses, Aziraphale could have sworn to see a look of hurt cross the other's face. "I was wondering," Crowley drawled, every trace of disappointment hidden in an instant, "about Monday… I could give you my number, and you can text me where I should pick you up."   
Aziraphale scrunched up his nose. "I'm not a fan of texting, if I'm being honest, my dear."  
The other boy rolled his eyes. "Fine, then call me, or whatever. Jus' give me your phone an' I'll give you my number."   
Aziraphale examined Crowley for a long moment, unsure of whether to refuse, simply because Crowley sounded so demanding. But then he picked up his bag, and rummaged around, until he found his phone, and handed it over.  
Crowley flipped it open. "There we go," he muttered, as he typed in his number. Then he pushed the phone back to Aziraphale, who left it lying on the table.   
An uncomfortable silence followed in which both tried not to be obvious about looking at the other (Crowley was more successful, but only because he had the advantage of sunglasses).   
Aziraphale knew that Crowley was thinking about last night, and how Aziraphale had left in the morning, without a word. The question was whether Crowley would call him out on it, or not.   
Just when Crowley opened his mouth, Aziraphale’s phone started to ring. The name 'Eliot' lit up the display. Aziraphale stifled a groan, and shoved the phone as far away as possible. He really couldn't deal with Eliot right now. Hadn't he been clear about not wanting to be called again? Unfortunately, as far away from him as possible meant that Aziraphale had pushed the phone in Crowley's direction, who took this as an invitation to pick it up.   
"You don't want to get that?" Crowley asked, and Aziraphale pulled a face rather than articulating an answer.   
"Wow, what'd that twit do to make you look like someone ripped a page in your favorite book?" Crowley was smirking, as he flipped open the phone.   
"Crowley, don-," Aziraphale started but it was too late.   
"Aziraphale’s phone, how can I help you?" Crowley's grin deepened as Aziraphale glared at him.   
"None of your business… Yeah, I can pass you on…" He held out the phone to Aziraphale, who shook his head vehemently. He was not going to talk to Eliot with Crowley listening, thank you very much.   
"No, sorry," Crowley said pressing the phone back to his ear, "I think, he doesn't want to talk to you… Yeah, whatever, bye now." He hung up, cutting off whatever this Eliot had tried to say, and handed the phone back to the rightful owner, who snachted it back, glaring at Crowley. "Seriously, Crowley, why did you do that? You just made everything worse."  
Crowley couldn't help chuckling. "Yeah? Who's that guy anyways? He was being a real arsehole, angel. Anyone I should be jealous of?"  
Aziraphale couldn't bare looking Crowley in the eyes, so he let his eyes travel to his own hands, as he clutched and unclutched his fingers. "He’s my ex",Aziraphale muttered, eventually.   
Even though he wasn't looking, he could tell that Crowley had gone very still at those words.   
"Your wot?" All the easy, playful charm was gone from his voice.  
Aziraphale sighed. That was definitely not a conversation he wanted to have with Crowley, right now. "My ex. He keeps trying to call me. We used to date back in the states, and when I came back to England, I broke things off with him."  
Crowley leaned back in his seat, and crossed his arms over his chest. Jaw set and eyes burning into Aziraphale, even through the dark lenses. Aziraphale could have sworn he felt the heat of that gaze. Crowley's voice was dangerously calm when he said:"Broke things off? Like you did with me, when you left me."  
"Crowley, no. Eliot and I were nothing like you and I. I didn't love him, not really, not as I - not as I loved you. And also you know that I had no choice. Mum dragged me with her. I never wanted to leave you." He swallowed, before finally forcing himself to look at the other boy. There wasn’t much to read in Crowley’s expression, not with this stupid glasses. Yet, his mouth set in a grim line.  
"But you did. You left me. Broke things off with me. Because what? It would have been too complicated?" he sounded angry and hurt. Even after so many years, it hurt.   
"We talked about it for weeks. Anthony, you know it wouldn't have worked. Back then we didn't have phones, or even an own computer. It would have destroyed us, trying to find a way to make it work. Neither of us could've been truly happy." Aziraphale’s voice sounded pleading. Why couldn’t he see that it had been for the best?  
"I told you it's Crowley, now,” Crowley snapped, “And you had no way of knowing if it'd work. You couldn't know, and didn't even bother to try because you were too much of a coward."   
The words cut deep into Aziraphale, making wounds bleed that had never truly healed in the first place.   
"My Dad had just died, Crowley. Just in case you'd forgotten. I needed to be able to start over, in a new place. Like Mum did." Anger came to help him, now. Distracting him from how every word hurt.   
"No, Aziraphale, I hadn't forgotten. Because, just in case you forgot, your Dad was more parent to me than mine ever was and when he died it destroyed me, too. I went to his grave every fucking year! When you and your Mum left, you took the only home, the only family I've ever had with you. You have no idea how I felt in the last years. You have no idea what I went through because you decided to cut me out of your life! You don't know shit, Aziraphale!" With this words, Crowley got up, grabbed his bag and stormed away.   
Aziraphale was left at the table, hands shaking while he tried to make sense of his feelings. There was anger. Anger at Crowley for blaming him. Anger at his Mum for making him leave all those years ago. And there was hurt. Hurt at the way Crowley had shouted at him. Hurt because of all he had done to Crowley in return. And there was longing to go back to how things were, when they were kids, when everything was easy, his Dad still alive, and the only thing the two of them had fought about was what game to play, what book to read next. He wanted to apologize to Crowley for all he had said. For leaving him, because Crowley was right, Aziraphale had left him. But he didn't know how, couldn’t seem to find the right words when he was with Crowley. He always made a mess of things! So he just sat there, trembling, and staring blankly into the distance. For once, he wished he was better at letting his emotions show. Crying often helped, didn’t it?

Later, when Aziraphale had calmed down, he went home. Gabriel asked him why he looked like he’d seen a ghost. For once, Aziraphale managed to ignore him, and went straight to his room. He didn’t even bother turning the lights on, when it got dark. He didn’t even bother to try to sleep because he knew it wouldn’t work.   
Aziraphale spent the night in the dark, staring at the pages of Paradise Lost, not reading a single word. 

When Crowley got home from the disastrous scene that had unfolded in the library, he was still seething with too many emotions, anger, frustration, and hurt all blurring together in one giant mess that he didn't know how to deal with. After he had snapped at Aziraphale that first time they had talked to each other again, his anger had subsided quickly, leaving him with guilt. But now he felt the anger burn through him, mixed with old pain, and new despair.   
So, Crowley got drunk, he cried. Then he got high, and cried some more, furious tears running down his cheeks. When he texted Lilith to asked if she wanted to come over, Lilith didn’t answer, so he chucked his phone across his room, mad at everything. Then he shouted at his plants (which still didn't make him feel any better, but at least he could let some steam off).  
Crowley knew he shouldn’t let it get under his skin like that. Afterall, what had really happened? After the party (Crowley hadn't even expected Aziraphale to actually show up) Aziraphale had spent the night (how wonderful it had felt to sleep in his arms), the next morning he had left without a word (now that had hurt, hadn’t it?), and later in the library Crowley had gotten irrationally jealous at the thought of Aziraphale with another boy (who was Crowley to judge? Hadn't he slept with at least twenty people since Aziraphale? Hadn't he slept with Lilith only about two month ago?), and then remembered how Aziraphale had left him (wounds that had never healed bleeding anew). How stupid of him to start a fight over this. Yet, Crowley knew his pride wouldn’t allow him to apologize a second time. Not when he was still angry with Aziraphale.   
Though, he didn’t know, what exactly he was so angry about. He had no right to be mad at Aziraphale for moving on with his life. He should be happy to hear that Aziraphale had found better ways to deal with their separation than he had. Crowley was happy that Aziraphale hadn't spiraled downwards like he had. And yet… Crowley couldn't feel that happiness. (Deep down, he knew that he had never gotten over being left behind, and that this was likely to be the cause of all that he felt now. How to move on when you’d never been able to let go?)  
Crowley sat down on his bed. From underneath it he pulled out the box of photos. This was only going to hurt him more, he knew, he fucking knew (but hadn’t he always been drawn to self destruction?). So, he opened the box, and pulled out one of the pictures. It was a long, thin slip from a photo booth, showing Aziraphale and him smiling, pulling faces, and kissing. They both looked so ridiculously happy, so absolutely in love. Crowley couldn’t stand it. With shaking fingers he started to tear it apart, until it was shredded to tiny pieces. It felt oddly satisfying.   
The next picture, a blurry selfie taken while cuddling on Azirphale’s bed, followed suit. And another, ripping their faces apart, and another, and another. Small paper scraps littered Crowley’s floor, appearing lost and out of place in a room so clean and without a single object out of place. He looked at the mess before him, the remains of almost ten pictures. Pictures that held so many memories. Pictures of his childhood and teenage years, where he had been loved and happy. Pictures that could never be re-taken. Suddenly, he felt like waking up from a trance.  
“Shit! No no nononono!” a hysteric sob broke from Crowley’s lips, as he sank to his knees. He tried to snatch all the little pieces off the floor. “No! Shit! What’veIdone?” Getting up, he dumped the paper on his desk, hands trembling as he tried to fit everything back together. “I can fix this,” he muttered, and abandoning his attempt at getting his puzzles in order, he started rummaging through his drawer to find glue, sewaring loudly. “FUCK! No no no, I can fix it! Where’s the fucking glue!” Annoyed, he brushed tears from his cheeks.  
Crowley didn’t hear his door open but suddenly Ligur was standing next to him. “Crowley? What are you doing?” Crowley ignored him. In a corner of the top drawer he finally found some tape, and pulled it out. “I can fix it,” repeated Crowley.  
Ligur tried to wrestle the tape from him. “Stop it! What the hell, Crowley? There’s no way you can fit that shit back together.”  
Crowley lunged at him, reaching for the little tube. “Give it back. I have to fix it.”  
Another voice joined in: “What’s going on?” Hastur walked in.  
“Crowley’s lost it,” grunted Ligur, and gave up on trying to keep Crowley from his hopeless endeavour.   
“C’mon,” Crowley mumbled as he tried to find the piece fitting the one he was currently holding.  
“Gee, I’m gonna see if Bee’s home, maybe they can talk some sense into him.”  
All that was lost on Crowley.Frantically, he searched for his missing piece. Why would none of them fit together? He had to make this right again. It could be fixed. It had to be!   
Noises, he registered only vaguely, announced that Hastur was coming back. “Where’s he?”   
There was a scrap with Aziraphale’s face, it fitted the one showing parts of the garden.  
“In his room, he’s a mess. Losing his shit over some pictures.”  
Now he had to find the rest of Aziraphale’s body. Maybe he had missed some scraps on the floor.  
“Crowley!”   
He turned around to search the floor again, when something slapped him across his face. For a moment he was too stunned to do anything but staring at Bee, who stood in front of him. Then very slowly, Crowley lifted his hand to his burning cheek. “You hit me.”  
“And I’m gonna do it again, if you don’t snap out of it.” Bee hissed, arms stemmed into their hips.  
Crowley blinked, opened and closed his mouth, blinked again, and finally said: “But I gotta fix it.”  
Bee punched him in the chest. “Look at the mess! You can’t put them back together. And this is not about the stupid pictures, asshole. What the fuck happened?” Their eyes burned into Crowley's.   
Crowley looked away first. Bee could stare anyone down, even though they were tiny. “We… we fought.”  
“Yeah, I figured. So what? No reason to completely lose your shit.” Their voice was hard, unyielding, it made Crowley feel like he was being backed into a corner, with no chance to escape.   
“You don’t understand, Bee!” he snapped, lashing out like a wounded animal.   
Bee lifted a brow. “I don’t? Enlighten me, then.”  
Crowley stared at the mess around him, then at his friends. “I…,” he tried, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.   
"You what?" prompted Bee.  
Crowley rubbed his neck. There really was no way out of it now, was there? “I love him. Still love him. Always have.”  
Hastur snorted. “Duh, we noticed.”   
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” said Bee, “You are going to clean this shit up, and get it back together. You are not going to spiral down like you did back then. He's not worth it.”   
Crowley, suddenly feeling defeated, looked at his feet, and said: “Yeah, ‘right.”   
As the others retreated, and left him alone, Crowley gathered the paper snips, and put them in the trash bin under his desk. For a moment he stared at the pathetic heap of shredded memories in his otherwise empty bin. At least, only ten of the photos had fallen victim to his rage. The other photo sat in the box on his bed. Crowley feared that he might lose it again, if he looked at them now, so he pushed the box back under his bed. Crowley considered to just crawl into his sheets, and not leave the comfort of his bed for the next few days. But he wasn’t sure if that would qualify as 'getting it together'. So he went to the kitchen, joining his friends.   
Luckily, no one mentioned what had happened, and they started a game of poker. It cheered him up a bit, especially when Hastur lost all his coins to him. If not fully, he was at least partially distracted. At least, so far that Crowley felt sure he wasn't in danger of doing something stupid again.   
Only later, when he tried to sleep, he couldn’t fight the anger and hurt rising once more. Silent tears to roll down his cheek. He brushed them away before they could wet his pillow. Why did he always have to cry? Why was he the emotional one? Wouldn’t it better fit Aziraphale’s whole… softness?   
No, Aziraphale was hard when it came to emotions, he’d turned distant and cool, even, whenever they had fought as kids, while Crowley raged, screamed and cried. 

Age seventeen:

Crowley barely registered the cold. He barely felt anything. His body was like a hollow shell. Empty. The snow started coming down again, falling onto his face, gently covering. Almost like a blanket, a very cold blanket, freezing him to the bones. But Crowley didn’t move. He didn’t care. Maybe he would fall asleep here. Outside, on the cold, hard ground. And maybe he wouldn’t wake up again. Wouldn’t that be nice? At least, then his miserable existence would finally end. Just let it end.  
What was the point of his life, anyways?   
They would soon kick him out of school, for sure. His marks were in the gutters and he rarely showed up. As he wasn’t planning on going to University, he couldn’t find any motivation to change anything about that. He didn’t need his marks to be good, if he wasn't planning on doing anything with them, right? What was the point of bothering himself with teachers, schedules, and noisy people? He didn’t have any clue what he wanted to do with his life. Once he’d dreamed about being an artist. Without Aziraphale that dream seemed dull and boring. What was the point of creating, if he had no one he could share his art with?   
Really, what was the point? No one would care if he just died right there and then. No one would miss him.   
“Oi, Crowley! The fuck are you doing there?”  
Crowley opened his eyes. Snow blurred his vision but he could make out a small figure hunched over him. “Go away,” he grunted.  
“Shit, what the hell happened to your face?”  
Now Crowley recognized the voice. Bee. Crowley ignored them, shutting his eyes again.   
“Talk to me dickhead!” they snapped and kicked his leg. One of the only parts of his body that wasn’t bruised already.  
Crowley groaned exaggeratedly. “My loving father lovingly beat the living shit out of me, ‘cause he caught me having sex with ‘nother guy.” Finally, Crowley looked at Bee.   
Sighing, Bee sat down next to him. After a moment of silence, they said: “Well that sucks.”  
Crowley just shrugged. “Also, I think I’m homeless now. ‘cause he said if he ever saw my face again, he’d give me a beating that would make this,” Crowley gestured to his blood-crusted, swollen face, “look like cuddles.”  
Bee didn’t say anything, they just stared up to the sky.   
“Maybe I should go back,” Crowley went on, “Maybe he’ll finish me off and I could be over with this shitshow of a life.”  
Without turning to look at him, Bee snapped:“Shut up, Crowley! Don’t ever say say shit like that again!”  
Crowley frowned and sat up. “And why the hell would you care?” He brushed the snow off his face. When he touched his cheek pain shot through his body.   
Bee shrugged, still not facing Crowley. “I know what you feel like.”  
“I highly doubt that.”   
“You think you’re the only one whose life sucks? The only one who feels lonely? Guess what, asshole, you’re not. You think your the only one whose parents threw them out because they are queer? I live with my great aunt because my parents didn’t want anything to do with me after I came out to them. And that great aunt treats me like shit, too, but at least I have a roof over my head, and she’s rarely home anyways. Life won’t always be like it’s now but if you snuff it now, you’ll never find out.”  
For a long moment Crowley just stared at Bee, blinking. Then he said, quietly: “But where do I go? What do I do with my life?”  
“You could start by getting your shit back together, come back to school. I know school sucks but if you sit it out till the end, it’ll be like a ticket that gets you the hell out of this shithole.”   
They were both silent for a while, until Crowley said: “I have nowhere to stay.”  
Bee shrugged. “Stay at mine till you get a job to afford some place of your own.”   
“Why? Why do you care about what happens to me?”  
“I know what it’s like to have no one look out for you.” Bee looked at him then. “ Also you only piss me off half the time.” They punched him in the shoulder (without real force, though).   
“Yeah?” Crowley smiled. It felt weird. When was the last time he’d genuinely smiled, let alone laughed? 

Later Crowley tried to sleep in the darkness of Bee’s room. They had found a thin, scratchy mattress in the basement and had carried it to their room. As Bee’d said, her great aunt wasn’t there, so no one had stopped them. They’d also taken the sofa’s pillows in an attempt to make Crowley’s makeshift quarters more comfortable. The pillows didn’t do much for comfort, but it was still better than dying in the streets. Anyways, it wasn’t as if his own bed at his father’s place had been much better.   
Now that he wasn’t frozen to the bones, Crowley felt how his split lips and back eye hurt. His tempe and rips, too. The pain was throbbing in time with his heart beat. He’d cleaned his wounds as best as he would and Bee had given him some painkillers but it’d be a while till the ache was dulled.   
“There was this boy,” Crowley found himself saying into the darkness, “You might have seen him around school… with me. His name’s Aziraphale…” Why the hell was he telling Bee about him? He’d better shut up.  
“Yeah, don’t think I’ve ever seen either of you without the other till… I don’t know, about a year ago… when you started hanging out with us.”   
“One year, six month and some odd days… that’s when he left.”  
“Oh.”   
“Yeah, oh.”  
Silence filled the room for a while. Crowley could hear his heart beating slowly as if it was exhausted from all the pain.   
“I miss him,” he whispered. Like a confession. Afraid of admitting the words out loud.


End file.
